


Ties That Blind

by bygone_daze



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-01 00:24:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 38,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8599759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bygone_daze/pseuds/bygone_daze
Summary: Rhaegar formed an alliance with House Stark at the Tourney of Harrenhal and altered the future of Westeros. Twenty years later, new rivalries and alliances are born as another great tourney shapes the fate of the kingdom.





	1. Sansa

**301 AC**

Three years had passed since the Starks of Winterfell last saw their cousins of Moat Cailin, and Sansa's heart stirred with excitement as their company approached the ancient fortress of the First Men. Lord Rickard granted the stronghold to his second son after the war, charging the young Ned to rebuild the once-mighty sentinel guarding North from southern threats.

Though some work still remained, Lord Eddard and his wife had done much in past fifteen years to transform the ruin into a proper keep. Stone from the from the old curtain wall had been used to fortify the three towers that remained, and a sturdy ironwood keep was erected behind them, at last completed more recently than Sansa's last visit six years before. She recognized the damp, earthy smell of the place as they approached, so different from the woodsy scent that filled the air around Winterfell. As their horses came within sight of the outer walls, familiar figures begin to emerge from within.

"Well, well!" her father bellowed. "If it isn't the Starks of the Moat! I see you've been busy, Ned. Winter is coming, and I'm glad you have a real roof to shelter us from these winds." Lord Brandon laughed has he leaped from his mount, striding forward to embrace his brother.

"It is coming, indeed," said Eddard with a smile. "The warmth of the south may be good for us all."

A grand tournament was to be held in King's Landing two months hence, and both branches of Starks would be in attendance. It had been many years since the great lords of Westeros gathered in one place - truly not since the fateful Tourney at Harrenhal that sparked the rebellion. Many marriages were brokered in the peace following that war, and eighteen years later many children born of those alliances were now coming of age. The crown prince Aegon and his three siblings all remained unwed, and it was rumored that King Rhaegar called the tourney in order to evaluate the possible matches and secure betrothals for his royal spawn. Many houses would take the opportunity to vie for ties to the Targaryens, or with the other highborn families in attendance. It was be the sort of gathering that songs were written of, and where the futures of kingdoms were shaped. The Starks would be there to play their part, and they would at last reunite with their sister Queen Lyanna and her children. They had not seen Prince Jon since his return to King's Landing after his wardship at Winterfell ended two years past.

Lord Eddard Stark looked both alike and different from Sansa's father. He was shorter than Brandon and his frame a bit slighter, his hair a lighter shade of brown. She'd always thought Ned's longer face wasn't quite as handsome as her father's, but she supposed a daughter's bias could be at play. To her uncle's side stood his wife, Lady Ashara of House Dayne. The dark haired Dornish beauty was undiminished by her years, tall and slender with warmth in her striking violet eyes. "Sansa," said she as she moved to embrace her niece. "You've become a woman since I last saw you. The young lords will be swarming in King's Landing."

Sansa blushed. "Thank you, Aunt Ashara," she said, acting a polite highborn maiden in accordance with her mother's training. "The castle looks wonderful, I cannot wait to see inside."

"Castle is a strong word," laughed Ashara. "But it has come a long way. And it is home."

Sansa turned to the lady's left, where her cousin Arya eyed her appraisingly. "Hello, Sansa," said Arya. "You look pretty as ever. I take it you're still too ladylike to join us hunting lizard lions."

Arya Stark was of an age with Sansa, but that was where the similarity ended. Arya had always been wild and heedless when she was younger, joining her brother on hunts and explorations into the nearby swampland. She was known for her loves of riding horses and making trouble, playing tricks on the cooks and maidservants and especially on her brother. But it was now a young woman that stood before Sansa, not the skinny girl she'd been when Eddard's family visited Winterfell three years before. Arya had inherited the dark hair of her Dornish mother, and her dark eyes reflected a hint of the deep violet of Ashara's. She was not a classic beauty like her mother, but she was pretty in a way that was sometimes compared to her aunt Lyanna. Her form was lithe and athletic, though it had taken the shape of a woman's since Sansa last saw her.

But Sansa had transformed as well, she reassured herself. In recent years her body had taken on the generous curves she inherited from Lady Catelyn, and the men around her increasingly took notice. Indeed, as Sansa's gaze shifted to Arya's brother she found his eyes looking lower than they should be. Damon's gaze shot up from her chest to meet her own, before her brother's tackle brought him tumbling to the ground.

"I hope you've been training, Damon," said, Robb, before his cousin playfully shoved him away. "I'm ready for a rematch." The heir to Winterfell was a strapping, comely lad, a year older than Sansa at seven and ten. Like her, Robb had the auburn hair and blue eyes of a Tully, though his charming smile was very much his father's. Robb carried himself with confidence, but Sansa thought some of it concealed the pressure he felt to live up to Brandon's dashing image.

"I've done nothing but train since we last met," said Damon, chuckling. "I can't have my younger cousin besting me in the yard." Damon was jesting, for he was only a few moons older than Robb. But he too had grown, Sansa noted, her cousin's tall, muscled frame outsizing even that of her brother. Damon had inherited than brown hair and gray eyes of Lord Eddard, but his face also reflected some of his mother's influence. It was a rare combination, Northern and Dornish, but Damon and Arya wore it well.

"This doesn't look like the training yard, does it?" asked her mother chidingly, Lady Catelyn looking handsome as always in a gray woolen dress lined with white.

"No it does not," said Lord Eddard. "Come now, the cooks have been busy and we mustn't keep them waiting." At that, Sansa and rest of the company from Winterfell followed their cousins through the outer gates of Moat Cailin.

Lord Brandon's company numbered over thirty as they spilled into the great hall. His two younger children, Rickon and Cathryn, did not joined them on the journey - there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. But their numbers were bolstered by Robb and Sansa's companions, along with other members of Winterfell's household and guard. Sansa sat with her friends Jeyne and Beth at the feast, Arya busy drinking and japing with Robb, Damon and the other lordlings across the table. "I wonder if your cousins will find matches in King's Landing," said Jeyne, always eager to gossip when she wasn't making eyes at Robb. "Damon has become rather... nice to look at."

"Well they can't compete with the Starks of Winterfell," said Beth. As the youngest of the three, she often resorted to flattery to steal Sansa's attention from the talkative Jeyne.

"I am not competing with anyone," said Sansa. She was both excited and nervous at the thought of being wed in the not so distant future. "I trust my mother and father to find me a worthy husband."

Jeyne leaned forward, her dark eyes twinkling. "I still think that Harrold Arryn would look well by your side."

Sansa blushed. Her friends had teased her about Jon Arryn's handsome, fair haired son since they'd met him five years prior at their visit to Riverrun. Harry fostered there along with her uncle Torean Tully, both squiring under the tutelage of Brynden the Blackfish. "Perhaps he would," she said, smiling slightly. "But he's just one of many possibilities. A lady must be selective." That set the girls to giggling, and they continued to titter in this manner through the length of the meal despite the rolling eyes Arya sent their way.

After the feast, Sansa sat before her mother in their chambers adjoining those of Lord Eddard's family. Though Brandon had earned the respect and loyalty of his bannermen in the eight years since Lord Rickard's death, it was his southron wife's wise and capable guidance that truly held sway in the North. As Catelyn brushed her daughter's long, auburn hair, she took the opportunity to instruct her as to the events to come. "Soon we'll continue down the Kingsroad," she said. "And In a few weeks time we'll be in Harrenhall, surrounded by our cousins and allies from the Riverlands and the Vale. You are a woman now Sansa, and a beautiful one at that. Men will seek your favor from all directions, and you must comport yourself as the honorable lady I've raised you to be."

The thought of being surrounded by suitors aroused Sansa's excitement, but still she chafed at her mother's incessant reminders of the standards she must keep. "I know, mother, and I will. But this would all be so much easier if you would just tell me of your plans for me."

Catelyn sighed. "Your father and I have some notions, but that's all they are. With so many lords and ladies seeking betrothals, we cannot predict where things may fall. Any lordling who thinks himself worthy of my daughter must prove himself so in my eyes, and in yours as well." She placed her hands on her daughter's shoulders and squeezed her warmly. "You are our darling daughter, Sansa. We will find a you a match that is good for our family, but more than that, we'll find a man that will make you happy."

As she lay in bed that night, Sansa pondered her mother's words. She thought of the maidens in the songs, always being saved from some peril by a gallant knight. The tales always ended before one could learn if the maiden truly found happiness in a life at her hero's side. She would find out for herself, she supposed, and that verse of her song was soon to be written.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More background to come in the next chapter when we meet the Targaryens, but in short: Princess Elia died after giving birth to Aegon, and a widowed Rhaegar fell in love with Lyanna at Harrenhal (playing with timelines a bit here). He appeals to Rickard Stark's 'southron ambitions' to secure a marriage and an alliance, and the Stark/Tully/Arryn coalition joins with Rhaegar to successfully rebel against the Mad King. Rickard and Brandon never died, and this chapter described the new North that resulted. There will be several more AU pairings that don't follow directly from the above (e.g. Jon Arryn marrying a Hardying and fathering Harrold), but it's a different world and I'm having some fun with it.
> 
> Robb and Sansa are slightly different than in canon due to the influence having of Brandon as a father rather than Ned. Arya is older and a bit different physically but her personality aligns with canon. And all characters are older than in AGOT as this takes place three years later, in 301 AC. Big ups to GRRM.


	2. Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet the Targaryens and learn more about the events that spurred this AU.

**King's Landing**

A small crowd looked on as the dragon princes sparred in the training yard of the Red Keep. Jon Targaryen lunged at his half brother, Aegon parrying his strike before lashing out with one of his own. They used blunted training blades, but the brothers fought with the intensity of a real bout. The Crown Prince Aegon had the look of a true dragonlord, sweat dripping from his silver hair down to his broad shoulders. Aegon was a year older than Jon, and both taller and more thickly built. The younger brother had the look of his mother, the dark hair and grey eyes proof of the Stark blood that flowed in his veins. But Jon was a dragon as well, and he had grown into a sturdy and able warrior during his time at Winterfell.

The brothers' blades met as they squared off, faces inches from one another, and Jon lowered his left arm for a body blow that never landed. "Your northern tricks won't work on me anymore," said Aegon, catching Jon by the wrist before he could strike and throwing him back. "I've seen them all by now." Jon's blade flashed forth in reply, glancing off Aegon's own before landing a broadside blow to his shoulder. Aegon had the edge in strength, but Jon's fought with a quickness and grace that reminded observers of his father. "I still have a few left," said Jon, "and a few I've learned from you as well."

The air rang with the songs of their steel, awes of approval rising from the crowd as the princes dueled. Among their admirers were the Princess Rhaenys and her two companions. The ladies' presence added significance to the bout in the minds of both brothers; it was clear that both wanted to win. Jon and Aegon were different in many ways. Aegon was brash while Jon was cautious, charming where Jon was quiet. Jon didn't truly understand how one spoke to girls, but women loved Aegon and he loved them. Many assumed that King Rhaegar would continue the Targaryen custom of marrying the eldest son to the eldest daughter, and it was whispered within the Red Keep that Aegon and Rhaenys already paid moonlight visits to each other's chambers. The King kept his intentions to himself in this matter, as he did with most, but perhaps answers were coming with the grand tourney only weeks away.

Both brothers began to tire, each sensing that the time for a decisive strike approached. Jon moved first, sprinting toward his brother and leaping to his side, twisting to strike at his back as he flew past. Aegon's eyes widened in surprise before his reflexes sparked, his sword flicking behind his head to deflect Jon's blow. He spun and landed an elbow to his brother's ribs, dropping Jon to his knees and pointing his sword to his neck. "I was wrong, you do have more tricks," said Aegon, smirking as he helped Jon to his feet. "I should have fainted left first," said Jon, returning his brother's grin. "I'll have you next time." The two brothers had a friendly rivalry, and though it bubbled over at times there was a grudging admiration between them. "Until then, keep practicing brother," said Prince Aegon, laughing as he turned toward their approaching sister and her flock.

Princess Rhaenys was striking as ever, her black gown clinging tightly to her long, toned form. She had inherited her mother Elia's dark hair and tanned skin, but her violet eyes matched her brother's as she smiled and whispered in his ear. Aegon laughed as she continued on, passing Jon with her companions, the Dornish ladies Valena Toland and Arianne Martell. "Well, you gave it your best," she said to Jon as she passed. "Perhaps it is time to take up the harp." Rhaenys had always been civil to her half brother, but there was little warmth between them. Jon knew that Rhaenys resented their father for replacing her mother with his, and she never missed a chance to remind him that he was different from she and Aegon. Indeed, his sister had fostered a sense of unworthiness that colored Jon's youth before he was sent to Winterfell as a boy of ten. Now he had returned, but the distance between them had only grown after spending their formative years so far apart.

Valena laughed at Rhaenys's jest, while Princess Arianne cocked an eyebrow and flashed Jon a smile as the trio departed. The voluptuous Dornish beauty came to King's Landing with her father when Prince Doran was named Rhaegar's Master of Laws, and she was friendlier to Jon than he would have expected. It was rumored that Arianne was all but betrothed to her younger cousin, the son of Prince Oberyn, but Doran would not turn down the chance to have a Targaryen Prince to one day rule Dorne at his daughter's side. Jon did his best to ignore his sister's remarks. He knew he was skilled with a sword, better than most any man he faced. A part of him still wished for the love of his elder sister, but he did not count on ever receiving it.

It was his other sister that awaited Jon when he returned to his chambers, Vaena Targaryen looking resplendent in a thin white gown lined with purple. Vae was Queen Lyanna's only daughter, born only a year after Jon, and she was the loving sibling the young prince had so badly needed. Vaena paired her father's silver hair with the grey Stark eyes of her mother, a rare and striking combination. Slender and slight of build but with a high, full chest, hers was a softer beauty than that of Rhaenys or their young aunt Danearys. She was softer hearted as well, quick to laugh and fond of teasing her brother during his bouts of sulking, one of which he was now in.

"Come now. Yes, you lost to Aegon, but you get a surprise visit from your favorite sister. You've come out well in the balance, I think." A small grin crossed Jon's face. "There, I want to see you smile. After all, your favorite kin are coming in two months time." It was true, Jon treasured the five years he spent in Winterfell with his mother's family. The warm welcome of his uncle and fast friendship of his cousin Robb had helped shaped him into the man he now was. "And you will finally meet them, " Jon reminded her. "Do not forget, they are your cousins too." Vaena had stayed behind when King Rhaegar sent Jon to the North, only reuniting with her brother when he returned two years prior. "I am sure I will love the Starks. But not enough to marry one," said Vaena. She was fond of speculating on potential betrothals that could be in the offing, something Jon indulged her in despite his lesser interest. "Robb will make someone a fine husband," he said, "and you and Sansa will be fast friends." His sister sighed. "I suppose it will be good for all of our family to gather as one," she said. The alliance between Stark and Targaryen had propelled Rhaegar to the throne, but the two families had remained at at distance in the years to follow.

It was a story that Jon and Vaena had heard told countless times. After Princess Elia died birthing Aegon, their father and mother met at the Tourney of Harrenhal. King Aerys had grown increasingly unstable since the Defiance of Duskendale. As he began burning traitors with wildfire and imagining whispers of plots all around him, Rhaegar determined to take action before his father harmed his family or jeopardized their hold on the Iron Throne. After falling in love with Lyanna and crowing her Queen of Love and Beauty, he proposed to Lord Rickard that he crown her with gold as well. The Starks had long been content to isolate themselves in North, but Lord Rickard now held ambitions to connect his house with southern interests. The moment had come to seize those ambitions, but the price would be steep. Rhaegar informed the Lords Stark and Arryn that with their aid he intended to depose his father. Jon Arryn would become Rhaeger's Hand, and Rickard's daughter would reign as Queen. The rebellion was born during that midnight meeting at Harrenhal, and realm would be forever changed.

Twenty years after intertwining their fates that night, houses Stark and Targaryen would soon reunite in King's Landing. A messenger appeared at the door to Jon's chambers before they could reflect any further. "Your graces, your father the King requests your presence in his solar." Rhaegar told his children the prior evening that they would gather the next day to discuss the tourney, and it seemed the time had now come.

The sun was setting outside the tall windows of King Rhaegar's solar, casting an orange glow across the large chamber Jon and his siblings entered. Their father stood watching the sunset, Queen Lyanna sitting near him with a pile of letters by her side. The Queen smiled at the site of her children. The crown suited Lyanna well, and she had ruled capably by Rhaegar's side for the past two decades. Her quick mind and instincts for diplomacy complemented his leadership well, and her sense of humor was the perfect balance to the quiet, reflective King. Jon and Vaena entered together, taking seats to their father's left, while their brother and sister followed and sat across them. Jon noted that the Princess' gown looked different than one she'd worn earlier, and he wondered if Aegon and Rhaeneys came from an meeting of a different nature than the one he'd had with Vaena.

"Children," said Rhaegar, his soft voice instantly commanding their attention. "I know that you have questions about your futures. And you may take heart in knowing that the answers are growing nearer as our celebration approaches. It has been far too long since we have hosted our vassals, too long since we've gathered our allies and kin." Rhaeneys cleared her throat. "Since you speak of kin, father, is it true what they say?" The King's eldest child was also his most confident, and most likely to speak out in his presence. "Did you send for your great uncle from the Night's Watch? What purpose does he have in this?" Rhaegar paused, considering his daughter. "Yes, I have sent for our uncle Aemon. There are not many Targaryens left in the world, and he carries much wisdom about the history of our line, among many other matters. He will spend his final days where he belongs, with his family, and I will greatly value his council."

It was true that the ruling house of Westeros was less numerous than it had been in hundreds of years. Most of Targaryens still drawing breath were gathered there in the solar. Missing was Jon's aunt Danearys, who was visiting Viserys and his mysterious new wife on Dragonstone. And his uncle Torean was still at Riverrun with his grandmother, though they would soon depart for the tourney.

After Aerys died, consumed by the very flames that had stoked his madness, it came to the surprise of the realm when the widowed Queen Rhaella had married again. But the Queen had never had a chance to pursue her own wishes, forced as a girl to marry a brother she never loved. With Aerys dead and her son secure on the throne, Rhaella was at last free to seek her own happiness. Lord Hoster Tully was a powerful lord and well regarded as a man, umarried after losing his wife to illness some years before. Rhaella was six years younger than Lord Tully, and her marriage both rewarded him for his loyalty in the rebellion and further bound his allegiance for any wars to come. The dowager Queen brought young Daenerys with her to Riverrun, and quickly took to her new home, proudly draping herself in the blue and red of House Tully. Rhaeala filled a void left by the departures of Catelyn and Lysa, and it was a further surprise to all when she bore Lord Hoster a son just a year after they wed. Since his brother Edmure died attempting a foolish act of valor during the Greyjoy Rebellion, young Torean Tully was now in line to one day rule the Riverlands.

"The ravens have been busy," said Queen Lyanna, always quick to gracefully change a subject. "I have a pile of letters from across the kingdoms, and it seems no one can resist a tournament so grand. We received word just today that the Lannisters and Tyrells will be in attendance." That was indeed significant. The Lords of the West and Reach had initially fought for Aerys in the Rebellion, believing Rhaegar's cause to be futile. They were quick to bend the knee after the Mad King's death, but despite their pardons they had been kept at a distance from the circles of power in King's Landing. Casterly Rock and Highgarden had spent the past twenty years licking their wounds and intertwining their blood, along with that of House Baratheon. "It is welcome news," said Rhaegar. "We must endeavor to renew those bonds. They represent the wealthiest and most populous of the Seven Kingdoms, and their strength only grows. Tywin Lannister and Olenna Tyrell are not to be underestimated, and we must keep them closer at hand."

"I have heard both houses boast lordlings who claim to be good with a sword," said Prince Aegon, a confident smile crossing his face. "What do you say, Jon? I'll tame the lion while you crush the rose?"  
"You have plenty of time to talk of your strategies for the melee," said Rhaegar. "What matters is now is that you think of the future you want to make, for yourselves and for our realm. The events of the coming weeks may well decide that future, and all of you must be ready."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to get through some backstory here, but the plot will start to pick up in chapters ahead. Thanks for reading!


	3. Cersei

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: I'm playing with age a bit here to make marriages work - Cersei and Jaime are five years younger than in canon.

**Goldengrove**

Cersei reached for her goblet. Lord Mace Tyrell was rising to give a toast, and she would need a full cup to endure more of her goodfather's prattle. From the day she'd arrived at Highgarden fifteen years prior, she had known that its lord was a fool. But she had found her betrothed to be slightly less dim, and since his crippled brother declared his intention to be become a maester, Garlan Tyrell was now heir to the Reach. 

"To our noble houses, intertwined, some of the noblest the kingdom has ever known," said Mace redundantly, speaking of the three principal families gathered at Goldengrove. Lannister, Tyrell and Hightower - excluded from the coalition that won the Rebellion, they had intermarried their children to form an alliance of their own. Cersei and Jaime had resisted marriage for as long as they could - indeed, Cersei had wept and raged affter Tywin told she she'd be shipped to Highgarden like a prized sow, while Jaime would remain at the Rock and marry that Hightower slut. The twins had taken solace in each other's bed that night, but that was something they'd done less and less frequently in the years since.

"May we all remain united, " Mace continued. "No matter what is to come at this blasted tourney." 

"Here, here," said Cersei's father, Lord Tywin mustering the minimum required enthusiasm. "Yes, well said for once," said Mace's ancient mother, Lady Olenna. "Now, thank our hosts and let's be on with it. We are great houses with great appetites, and little patience for speeches." 

"Of course, mother, of course," said Mace, blushing as chuckles filled the hall. "Our utmost gratitude to House Rowan. Too many years have passed since we visited these halls."

"It is our honor to to host you, my lord," said Lord Mathis, raising his cup in reply. Rowan's smile mostly concealed his annoyance at the expense of this feast he'd been compelled to host. 

Cersei supposed the castle was handsome enough, tall and of well hewn granite, overlooking a bend in the broad, slow river flowing south to Highgarden. Located between Casterly Rock and Highgarden and east of both, Rowan's keep served well as a rendezvous for the allied families en route to King's Landing. But it could not compare to her true home, nothing could, and moments remained where she longed to return to the Rock.

As the feast at last commenced, Cersei stole a look across the room, to the left of her father and the dim woman he'd married, where her brother Jaime sat. Her twin was dashing as ever at nine and twenty, and she found him returning her gaze. Jaime was quickly distracted by his wife, who put a hand on his arm and whispered some jest in his ear. After all these years, it still pained her to see her brother with this woman.

Lynesse Hightower was pretty, beautiful even, with long golden hair much like Cersei's own. But she was a pale imitation - Cersei's place in her brother's heart could not be so easily replaced. The wealthy Oldtown brat was more than happy to snag the Lannister heir, as Casterly Rock afforded a lifestyle even more luxurious than she'd had in the High Tower. Lynesse gave the appearance of loving Jaime, but Cersei thought it was fine gowns and golden jewelry she truly loved, along with the status of being the future Lady of House Lannister. 

"It seems that you like staring at your brother almost as much gazing in the mirror," said her husband, seated beside her. "Though perhaps the two aren't so different."

Garlan Tyrell was known as the Gallant, and she supposed it was true to a point. He was a well made man, tall and broad shouldered. He was bigger than Jaime, and though none could match Cersei's brother in looks, her husband's square, bearded jaw and chestnut locks were not displeasing. "I'm merely taking count of their gaggle of babes. My brother's wife seems to whelp like a broodmare." Cersei was not ashamed of her own fertility, having given birth to her third child three years before. But Lynesse had seemed to spend half her life in the birthing bed. Two sons and two daughters born to house Lannister, and her middle now clearly swelled yet again. 

"I'll take our three golden roses over that pack of lion cubs," laughed Garlan. Cersei looked at her daughter Eleana to her right, eating and giggling with her younger brother. A budding maiden at four and ten, Elly's light brown hair and heart shaped face left little doubt that she was a true Tyrell. When she first found herself with child, Cersei braced herself for disappointment if it did not prove to be Jaime's. But it in the end, it was relief that she felt to hold her daughter and see that the girl was Garlan's. Her husband was not the oaf that his father was, but he had proven to be pliable in the face of Cersei's beauty and force of will. He did not dare stray from their marriage bed, and he was a good father to their children. If that made a man gallant, she supposed he was so. And if nothing else, his colors suited her; Cersei Tyrell always looked radiant in her silk gowns of green and gold.

After the meal, the floor was cleared and the musicians Lord Rowan reluctantly hired began to play. As Garlan took his mother's hand for a dance, Cersei refilled her cup and began to circle along the room's edge. She passed her goodsister Margaery dancing with Alyn Ambrose, clad in her own emerald dress with her brown hair bound in an elaborate braid. Margaery let out a practiced peal of laughter as she twirled; her grandmother had trained her well in her courtly manners, and she knew how to make her young suitors blush.

Garlan's only sister was but few years older than Eleana, but Cersei knew that Lady Margaery concealed great ambition beneath her girlish charms. It was rumored at Highgarden that Lord Mace and his mother had their own lofty ideas for Margaery - they hoped see her wed to none other than the Crown Prince. _The dragons can have her._ Cersei misliked her goodsister, as she did all Tyrells except her somewhat tolerable husband. They were a pompous, grasping house - but they were the house of her children, one of whom's future she now meant to discuss.

"Well," said Cersei, joining her brother as he leaned against a pillar on the perimeter of the hall. "Have you spoken to him?" They both looked to the head table, where her father was now engaged in discussion with Lady Olenna. They made an unlikely duo, Tywin Lannister and the wizened old Queen of Thorns. But both were cunning, ruthless and willing to do whatever was necessary to advance their families. They had quickly recognized the strategic benefits of an alliance between their houses in the aftermath of the Rebellion. To this day, the decisions made in conversations between the old lord and lady would reverberate throughout both kingdoms.

Jaime sighed in annoyance. "I've broached it, Cersei, but you know how he is. 'We will do what's best for this house when the time comes,' that's all I ever get from our loving father."

Cersei clenched her teeth in frustration. "This _is_ what is best for our houses. The dragons and their loyal cronies cast us aside long ago, and we have done better for it. We've proven that we do not require their favor, don't need to give our daughters to their sons. We should strengthen the ties we have already, not wager our futures on Rhaegar's whims." 

Jamie looked at her. "You speak of what's best for the realm, but that isn't what guides you here. You want your daughter and my son to have what you and I were forced to give up. Each other." 

"Don't pretend you don't want the same. Look, Jaime." The players began a new song, and as the dancers switched partners her daughter approached a golden haired lordling with a lion on his doublet. Tyman Lannister was Jaime's eldest, of an age with Eleana. His face was the image of a young Jaime, though his pale blue eyes were unfortunately his mother's. The lad was graceful as he danced with his cousin; the two had played together as children, and the shy smiles they exchanged brought a pang to Cersei's chest. She saw Jaime staring similarly - it was their younger selves they saw before them. 

"Imagine them side by side, one day ruling the Rock. Perhaps the Reach as well, in all but name. They can have everything that was taken from us, and more." 

Jaime turned toward her, emerald eyes shining. "Gods, you make me want you when you speak this way," he whispered. "It has been too long."

"My noble husband already stares at us," said Cersei impatiently. "You will have nothing of me this night. Or any other, until our children are betrothed. King's Landing will be unpredictable, and you must do your part to keep father from disrupting our plans." 

"I'll do my best," said Jaime. "But when I come to claim my reward, I want you draped in crimson and gold. The colors you belong in." 

Cersei arched an eyebrow at her brother, smirking as she walked away. He still wanted her, as if there had ever been any doubt. Garlan had just finished a dance with her half-sister Amerei, born of Tywin's misguided marriage to that Darry woman. Amerei was a maiden of five and ten - though if the rumors were true, perhaps _maiden_ was not the right word. Cersei poured herself one last goblet of Arbor red, then took her husband's hand. The feast was drawing to a close, she'd advanced her agenda, and their rooms now beckoned.

\----------

Now alone in their chamber, Cersei panted as she rode atop her husband. She liked the way his wide-eyed gaze lingering on every part of her form, almost in disbelief that he was deemed worthy to enjoy it. Garlan was bigger than Jaime in more ways than one, and he was often content to lie back and let her take her pleasure of him. She briefly imagined that it was Jaime beneath her, and for a moment she bucked her hips harder at the thought of her twin making love to her as he once did. But in the end it was the sight of her handsome dolt of a husband that eventually brought Cersei to her release.

Cersei thought of her three children as she lay down beside Garlan, catching her breath. She would always be a Lannister, but this lioness would provide and protect for the roses she'd planted.  
No matter what the cost.


	4. Sansa, Robb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter with two POVs - enjoy!

**Sansa**

The excitement was palpable as Sansa and her companions prepared themselves for the evening feast. The road to Harrenhal had been long, and though they traveled south they felt the approach of winter in the rising chill each night. But they had made it through three quarters of their journey from Winterfell to King's Landing, and that was something to celebrate.

It was also significant occasion for Lord Walter Whent, the largest gathering in his halls since the fateful tourney twenty years before. Lord Walter was Sansa's great uncle, as her mother's mother was a Whent of Harrenhal. He'd been among the first lords to support Rhaegar's plans of rebellion, indeed even prompted to host the tourney at the Prince's secret bidding. But the new King's favor had not lead to good fortune for House Whent, as all four of Lord Walter's sons were now in the ground - two killed in battle, one of sickness and one death at sea. It was his grandson Osmund who now stood as the sole Whent heir to Harrenhall.

The Northern party now numbered over fifty, and they'd arrived within a day of even larger hosts from Riverrun and the Eyrie. Sansa's grandfather Hoster Tully was in too frail a state to travel, but his wife Lady Rhaella had come with her son Torean, part of their household and a number of other river lords. Young Harrold Arryn of the Vale was also in attendance with a host of bannerman and attendants. After fostering with Torean at the Tully seat, Harry had returned to the Eyrie two years before to act as regent with Lord Jon serving as Rhaegar's Hand in the capital.

The Tullys and Arryns would be at the upcoming feast, and it was Harrold who the girls' thoughts once again turned to. "Is that gown supposed to be Arryn blue, Sansa?" asked Jeyne teasingly.

"It is Tully blue, and it matches my eyes," replied Sansa, smiling coyly. The girls were all excited for a feast of this size, surrounded by the highborn lords and ladies of three kingdoms. Sansa had anticipated this gathering for weeks, though she preferred it not be at the massive, gloomy castle she'd heard so many dark stories about. But Lord Whent had been well compensated for his loyalty to Rhaegar, and the castle was now in better condition than it had been in centuries. The Starks were given chambers in the Kingspyre Tower two levels below the Lord's chambers, and Sansa's large room would be drafty if it weren't for the roaring fire.

Sansa's two friends wore their best for the occasion as well. Pretty, dark-haired Jeyne looked as if she could be a Stark cousin in her gray woolen dress, while the freckled Beth's auburn curls paired well with the soft green of her gown. The girls were daughters of minor Northern nobles, but their families' trusted positions with House Stark meant they might find their own matches with lesser lordlings in the coming months.

The feast was held in the Hall of the Hundred Hearths, and the name was apt - it was the largest great hall Sansa had ever seen. Fit for a gathering of the ruling houses of the North, Vale and Riverlands - the three houses that initially supported Rhaegar's rebellion and benefited most from his victory. The Starks gained a royal marriage, the Arryns a Handship, and Tullys a marriage to the dowager queen. Sansa looked up to the massive head table, where Lady Rhaenys now sat. The regal silver-haired Targaryen remained a handsome woman at five and fifty, and Sansa thought it romantic that her grandfather had brought Rhaenys some measure of happiness after a lifetime of Aerys' abuse.

To Rhaella's left sat her son, Torean, the handsome young heir to Riverrun eliciting a smile from his solemn mother with a jest of some sort. "Oozing with charm, that uncle of yours," said the young women who had barged her way into sitting at Sansa's side, eliciting glares from her displaced friends. "Is it strange to have an uncle of an age with you, and so handsome to boot?"

Sansa eyed Myranda Royce, the buxom, brown haired daughter of Lord Nestor Royce of the Vale. They had only just met, but Myranda had quickly proven herself to be sharped-tounged and inquisitive. Sansa found herself taking a liking to the older girl, but she remainded somewhat guarded with her words all the same.

"I suppose he is comely," said Sansa. "But I hardly know him, I haven't seen him since we visited Riverrun years ago."

"And I suppose you met Harry the Heir then too, did you?" said Myranda, tossing her curls. Both girls looked to Torean's right, where his friend and foster brother Harrold Arryn sat. "Not the sharpest lad, but he looks the part. I suppose he'll make a decent lord. But he needs to learn to think with his brain rather than his cock."

Sansa blushed. The young ladies of Winterfell were certainly not this frank. "What would make you say that?"

"Oh you haven't heard? Our young regent has already planted a bastard daughter in a serving girl at the Eyrie. Incorrigible, that one - he's had a try or two at bedding me as well. Tempting, but I know he won't wed me. His lord father has his sights set higher for his precious heir. And a widow like me doesn't have time to waste with skirt-chasing boys."

"You're a widow?" Sansa asked, suprised. "But you're so young!" Myranda could not have been more than five years her senior, and despite her wide hips and substantial bust she did not look to have born any children.

"Yes, yes, it's a tragic story," said Myranda, voice dripping with sarcasm as she scanned the massive chamber. "My husband dropped dead on top of me, if you know what I mean. If your father tries talking you into wedding an old man, take my advice and refuse him."

"On top of you?" Sansa blurted, blushing a deep red as she realized what she meant. "My gods. I'm sorry, that is awful."

"Yes, it was unfortunate, but now I have the chance to marry someone with enough vigor to please me in bed, rather than die there," said Myranda, eliding a nervous giggle from Sansa. "I am young still, but if I want to bear my next husband a few babes I must find him sooner rather than later. My father stayed back at the Eyrie - he's the steward, you know - but he told me that if I found myself a good match in King's Landing I had his leave to take it."

"You have permission to make your own betrothal?" said Sansa incredulously. "I... I didn't know that was done." She could not imagine her parents ever relinquishing their tightly-held grip on her future.

"I suppose it is rare," said Myranda "But I've earned my father's trust by running his household at the Gates of the Moon for years with him at the Eyrie. Now I'll need to find a new lordling in need of a woman to show him the way. As all men do." Myranda winked. "Now, tell me about this cousin of yours. He looks rather... sturdy. Do you know him well?"

Sansa shot a furtive glance to the long table to their left, where Damon sat with Robb and the other young men from the North. The lads were all laughing as Robb regaled them with some tale, while Eddard's strapping son looked content to grin and listen. "We don't see my uncle's family often, but Damon was always quiet compared to my brother," said Sansa. "He reminded me of uncle Eddard. But he's grown tall and strong since I last saw him, and I think his confidence may have grown as well."

"Tall and strong indeed," said Myranda, listening thoughtfully as she finished the last of her meal. "I think I will speak with him, and judge his character for myself."

Now Sansa was intrigued. "You have thoughts of a match with my cousin?" Damon was certainly younger than Myranda, but she supposed it made some amount of sense. A cadet branch of House Stark joined to one of House Royce - and Moat Cailin was no great distance from the Vale.

"If I deem him worthy I may consider it," said Myranda with a sly grin. "But that's for me to decide. Men in this world may think they hold power over us, over our bodies. But remember, Sansa - a woman's mind is hers alone."

* * *

 

As the tables were cleared and the musicians began to play, Sansa noted the approach of none other than Harrold Arryn. "Lady Sansa. Would you join me for a dance?"

Despite Randa's warnings, Sansa still found herself briefly lost in the piercing blue eyes that met her own. Tall and broad-shouldered with fair locks and high cheekbones, Harry was a living image of the dashing knights from the stories she'd loved as a girl. But as they danced, Harrold's attempts at conversation quickly disabused her of the notion that he was a perfect prince.

"Do you worship the seven, my lady?" Harry asked at one point. "Or do you keep to the gods of the North? It always seemed sort of strange to me, kneeling before bloody trees."

Sansa frowned. "We have both a sept and godswood at Winterfell, my lord. I was raised to give equal respect to the old gods and the new."

"Ah, well I suppose that's good," said Harry, realizing his misstep but lacking the words to atone for it.

Their conversation continued like this, polite but uninspiring, and Sansa found her eyes wandering elsewhere throughout the great hall. To her left, Beth was dancing happily with Cley Cerwyn, while Jeyne was paired with a son of Lord Piper. _At least someone is enjoying themselves._

Her focus shifted to the main table, where her uncle Eddard spoke intently with their host, Lord Whent. As she watched, the two lords turned to look at Arya. Ned's face quickly warped into a grimace, as his daughter had chosen this moment to engage in a drinking contest with Benfred Tallhart.

Sansa was distracted by a flash of sandy blonde hair and a girlish giggle to her right. She stole a glance in that direction and saw her brother Robb dancing with Harry's half-sister, Walda Frey. Deana Hardyng had born two children to her first Frey husband before his early death, and her youth and proven fertility caught the notice of the widowed and heirless Lord Arryn. Her daughter Walda bore some resemblance to the comely Harrold, and indeed she'd become known as Fair Walda to distinguish her from the multitude of weasel-faced cousins that shared her name. Walda seemed to have quickly gained Robb's attention, and Sansa's brother grinned dumbly as the Frey girl spun happily before him.

Behind Robb, Damon sat at the table in conversation with none other than Myranda Royce. Sansa could not help but smile as her diminutive new friend clearly dominated the interaction with the strapping heir to Moat Cailin. Damon certainly appeared to enjoying the older girl's attention, she noted wryly. It hadn't taken long for her brother and cousin to be set upon by opportunistic ladies, and she hoped the Stark boys had _some_ knowledge of strategy that applied beyond the training yard.

One thing was for certain - there would be no shortage of courtly intrigue in the coming weeks, and Myranda had taught her that a capable woman might truly be able to shape her own fate. Sansa's mouth curled into a grin at the thought, and Harry smiled in return. _Let him think I smile for him,_ she thought to herself. _After all, a woman's mind is hers alone._

  
**Robb**

  
The heir to Winterfell cocked his head in surprise at the knock on the door to his chambers. The feast had ended not long before, and Robb had drunk more wine than he should've. He'd been about to remove his doublet and climb into bed when the knock came, and was certainly not expecting a visitor. As he swung the door open, Robb was surprised to see Walda Frey awaiting in the hall.

"My lady," said Robb, trying to remain composed. "I did not expect to see you again so soon." Since reaching manhood, Robb had grown accustomed to the attentions of the young ladies at Winterfell. It no longer gave him any great thrill to see Jeyne Poole bat her lashes in his direction. But he was on a larger stage now, and Robb had been quite pleased when the pretty Walda flirted with him at the feast, laughing at all of his jests and running her hands along his shoulders as they danced.

"I'm sorry to surprise you, Robb," said Walda. "May I come in for a moment?" Robb had never met the Frey girl before this night, but he'd quickly seen why she was called the Fair. Two years his senior, Walda had the look of her Hardyng mother, long-necked and slender with wavy flaxen hair. She had a pointed nose, strong cheecks and a small mouth that now bore a playful smirk.

"Oh - well yes, of course, come in," said Robb, still confused and a bit in his cups. Walda stepped into his chamber, Robb careful to close the door quietly behind her. A flush seemed to creep into her cheeks as they now stood facing one another.

"I just wanted to thank you," she said as she walked slowly toward him. "I had such fun with you tonight. I've never met someone like you in any place I've lived." After spending much of her childhood in King's Landing where her stepfather was Hand, Walda and her mother returned to the Eyrie two years prior when Harold reached his majority and came to serve as regent. Robb recalled her telling him that she'd also just spent a month at the Twins before leaving for the tourney.

He fought back a grin at her compliment. _Is this truly happening?_   He asked himself as she drew nearer, but before he could question further she was in his arms and he was kissing her. Her lips tasted of Arbor gold, and Robb's hands seemed to move of their own volition from her slim waist down to her surprisingly shapely hips. _I should not do this,_ he thought from amidst his drunken haze. _Her brother is the heir to the Vale._ But the thought of Harrold only spurred feelings of indignation. Jon Arryn's son had treated Robb like a rival during his visit Riverrun five years before, finding subtle ways to slight or exclude him in favor of Torean Tully.

His thoughts were interrupted as Walda broke off their kiss and guided him to sit on the edge of the bed. "Walda," Robb started, "I feel drawn to you too, but I wouldn't want to--"

"Hush, Robb," she interrupted, lowering herself to her knees on the rug before him. "I said I wanted to thank you, and you wouldn't deny a lady her wish."

Before he could reply, she had her hand inside his his breeches, quickly undoing his laces and extracting his manhood. Robb had bedded only one girl before, a pretty blacksmith's daughter in town outside Winterfell. But their brief and fumbling trysts had not involved anything like this, as Fair Walda Frey ran her long tongue along the length of his member . "Oh, gods," Robb moaned, in minor disbelief at the sensations he now felt. He ran a hand through Walda's fair curls as she took him in her mouth, her head bobbing back and forth below him. _If only that Harry could see his sister now._

Robb knew that this was foolish. There was a good chance he would be betrothed within months, and his mother had warned him against making poor decisions such as this. But he'd heard the tales about his father, how Lord Brandon had bedded Barbrey Ryswell and likely other maids when he was Robb's age. And Robb was finding it difficult to worry about propriety with Walda's warm, wet mouth around his member.

Giving himself over to his instincts, Robb guided the Frey girl up to her feet and lifted her onto the bed. As he pulled up Walda's skirts he found that she wore no smallclothes, and he brought his hand between her legs to explore her wetness. "I want you, Robb," whispered Walda, and he needed no further instruction. Robb's mind went almost blank as he entered her, only aware of how good she felt around him. Walda seemed to like it as well, moaning softly in his ear in response to his thrusts. When he met his climax a few minutes later, Robb opened his eyes to see a satisfied smile on Walda's face as she felt his seed spurt within her.

Walda took her leave quickly afterward, promising to see him again when they broke their fast the next morning. As he felt sleep approach, Robb's thoughts turned back to his mother's warnings. "You must act with honor in these coming months," Lady Catelyn had told him before they left Winterfell. "You will have flatterers, but they'll all want something from you. Be cautious, Robb."

 _But father has never been cautious, and his boldness has served him well,_ thought the young Stark heir. _And after all, it was just one night._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that going from Sansa's arc of female empowerment to Walda throwing herself at Robb may seem shallow and inconsistent. But in a world where men hold most of the cards, Walda is playing the game in her own way - and we'll learn more about her motivations in due time. 
> 
> And yes, this fic will have smutty vignettes peppered in here and there. I find it to be a fun way to explore a new pairing, but it's not just smut for smut's sake. Sex will have a meaningful role in the greater plot, as it does in ASOIAF. Thanks for reading!


	5. Daenerys

**Dragonstone**

Daenerys' footfalls echoed through the wide spiral stairway as she ascended toward the uppermost chamber of the Stone Drum. Through the tall, thin windows she could see the harbor village below the ancient fortress, the lively markets where the fishermen peddled the last of the day's catch. The princess felt at home amid the salt and smoke of Dragonstone, the ancient seat of her house's power and the place of her birth. She'd returned there several weeks prior to visit her brother Viserys, a welcome escape from the fussing in pruning in King's Landing as the capital made ready for the upcoming tourney.

When her brother Rhaegar's faction went to war against their father, the pregnant Queen Rhaella had fled King's Landing with her young son Viserys to take refuge on this island. They were not present when King Aerys died in an explosion born of the wildfyre that been his obsession and his curse. Dany came into the world during a violent storm several months into Rhaegar's young reign, her widowed mother giving birth to one last legacy of the Mad King.

Dany walked past the her brother's guards through the doorway leading into the tower's topmost chamber, where torchlight added to the glow of the setting sun through the stained glass windows. Standing before the massive Painted Table where the first Aegon planned his conquest were two figures. To the left stood her brother Viserys, holding a goblet of wine as he often did. "Daenerys," said the prince. "Good of you to join us. I believe I summoned you an hour ago."

Tall and slim with silver-blonde hair, Viserys resembled a pale shade of their eldest brother the king. He tended toward jest and sarcasm in most interactions, though Dany thought he carried himself more seriously in presence of the woman standing at his side.

"Forgive her, husband," said Lady Melisandre. "I'm sure the Princess had good cause for her delay." Dany had only met her brother's new wife once before this visit, and she was still not at ease in the strange woman's presence.

"I was on a walk through the village, spending time among the smallfolk," said Daenerys, approaching the table and placing her hands upon its edge. "Something you should try more often." During her years in the Riverlands, Dany's mother taught her the importance of lords knowing and being known by their people. She took this especially to heart here at Dragonstone, where many villagers had the Valyrian features so rarely found in Westeros. They were the bastard descendants of Targaryen lords of old, and Daenerys felt a sense of belonging among them - something that had eluded her in a youth spent shuttling between Riverrun and King's Landing.

Viserys scoffed loudly. "Why bother? Our dear brother hasn't seen fit to make me lord of this rock, so why should I care what its lowly dwellers think of me?"

It was true, when Rhaegar bid Viserys to oversee Dragonstone it was more like a banishment than a reward. The king had first sent his willful, unpredictable brother on a long journey to Essos to find a wife under the stewardship of Lord Merryweather, the master of laws. Rhaegar reacted with surprise and cold disapproval when Viserys returned to King's Landing already wed to the mysterious red woman. She was said to be the daughter of a powerful Lysene magister - though strangely, neither Viserys nor Merryweather could recall more detail than that. _Almost as if they were bewitched_ , the court had whispered.

Rhaegar had held a private audience with Melisandre, and to this day few knew the contents of their discussion. Afterward he reluctantly announced that the marriage must stand. Lord Merryweather was dismissed from the council, and Viserys was sent to Dragonstone to avoid further embarrassment at court.

Melisandre turned to her husband. "Your brother repeats the mistakes of your ancestors by confining a dragon to a cage." Her voice echoing throughout the chamber with authority, affecting an accent that was difficult to place. "But it will not have the same result. He sent you to the island where dragons thrive, and so shall you. The Lord of Light's power is strong here at the base of this mountain of fire."

Daenerys regarded her new goodsister warily. Melisandre was nearly of a height with Viserys, her long red hair a similar shade to the close-fitting gown that hugged her shapely form. She seemed never to wear any other color, though she sometimes added a long black cloak bearing the sigil of her husband's house.

Viserys laughed, raising his goblet in his wife's direction. "You know the way to my heart, woman - comparing your poor husband to his favorite creature. I don't know whether there is truth in your words, but by the gods you speak them well."

"There is only one god," said Melisandre. _Someone needs to teach this woman the art of humor,_ thought Dany wryly. In her time at Dragonstone, she hadn't spent more than a moment in the woman's presence without hearing mention of her strange, foreign religion. Daenerys was no great believer in Faith of the Seven. _Where was the Crone's wisdom when her father was consumed by madness? The Mother's mercy when he died engulfed by flame?_ But she had little interest in Melisandre's red god - fire was something to fear, not to worship. Her father's demise had been proof of that.

"And only one king," said Viserys, turning his gaze to Daenerys. "We will see our brother in his brood soon, Dany. If the seas are willing, we'll set sail for his bloody tourney the day after next."

Daenerys and her brother were not the closest of siblings; they had spent too many years apart, she with her mother and Torean at Riverrun while Viserys remained in the capital. But they were bound both by the blood they shared and mutual feelings of distance from their brother and his family. Dany was not yet born when Rhaegar rebelled against their Aerys, and Viserys retained only a few blurry memories of those dark days. However, a son warring against his father is not something a family can easily overcome, nor forget. Rhaegar's children were raised in the glow of their father's victory, but that light did not shine as brightly for the spawn of the Mad King.

"I suppose that day was bound to come," said Dany. Despite her unease toward Melisandre, she was not eager to leave Dragonstone and return to the nest of vipers that was King's Landing.

"And we must speak before it does," said the red woman, her dark eyes now intensely focused on the princess. "That is why we summoned you here. I have seen tidings in the flames, warnings of the events to come."

Dany looked to her brother, who raised an eyebrow and offered a small shrug. Viserys still sometimes jested with Daenerys about his wife's religion, but he'd also told her that there tended to be truth in Melisandre's visions. "Very well," Dany said with a sigh. "Tell me what your fire god has shown you."

Melisandre walked toward the large windows that looked out at the Narrow Sea, toward the far away lands from whence she had come. After a moment she turned back toward Daenerys, and when she spoke her voice was somehow deeper and more voluminous than it had been a moment before.

"I saw a mummer's dragon, holding its three heads high and proud. But no true flame came from their mouths, only plumes of smoke that froze in wintry air before falling to the ground. The beast turned into ice, a frozen statue that was shattered into pieces by a fiery blast." She looked to Viserys. "It was melted by a true dragon's flame. A mighty dragon, and one which had three heads as well."

"How fascinating," said Daenerys, hoping her skeptical tone hid her state of intrigue at woman's words. The three-headed dragon was the sigil of House Targaryen. _But why would it be destroyed by another of its kind?_   "I don't suppose you have thoughts as to what it means."

"The Lord of Light does not provide us with instructions," said Melisandre. "Only signals, and their meaning is rarely clear. But your brother the King has his own interest in prophecy, and I fear that the signs he follows may be false. Rhaegar has bound himself to the wolves of the North - a place of cold and darkness. And cold and darkness are where the Great Other dwells."

Daenerys laughed nervously. "So you fear that the Starks are in the thrall of some evil winter god?"

"She is saying that we must be wary of the bonds our brother makes," said Viserys, his tone now growing stern. "And many bonds will be strengthened - or broken - in the coming weeks. This will be no mere tourney, sister."

"And now we come to it," said Daenerys, looking back and forth between them. "I am aware of the significance of Rhaegar's grand affair. Tell me what you truly want of me."

Viserys shared a glance with his wife, seemingly urged onward by the nod she gave him. "It is no secret that _I_ have fallen from our brother's graces, but he certainly still has great plans for you. I only ask that when he and his children whisper in your ear, their words find their way to me as well."

Melisandre slid one hand around her brother's shoulders, placing the other on his chest as she eyed Daenerys. "Except for the king, you and your brother are the only pure-blooded dragons in this world," she said, an inscrutable smile on her lips. "Do not forget that in the weeks to come."

* * *

  
The wind sent Dany's silvery hair streaming behind her as she stood at the prow of the Meraxes, flagship of the small fleet Viserys commanded as steward of Dragostone. As the princess looked out into the windswept waters of Blackwater Bay, she thought back to her brother's words from two nights prior. _He's right, Rhaegar surely does have plans for me. Plans I may not like._  She knew that it would delight most young ladies to have the future she faced, a marriage to a great lord or a prince, a life of prestige and wealth. But the thought did not send her heart aflutter. Daenerys knew what a marriage to a king gave her mother - decades of unhappiness, years of quiet suffering in the dark confines of her husband's shadow.

 _And why must that be a woman's fate?_ Her thoughts turned to her brother's wife. Daenerys still did not put much faith in the red woman's warnings, but she did owe Melisandre a grudging respect. Viserys was her husband and her prince, but it was clear to Dany who truly held sway on Dragontone. _Perhaps I can learn something from her after all._ She looked back over her shoulder, where her goodsister stood on a platform above her. Their eyes met, Melisandre's gaze boring a hole straight through her and sending a chill down her spine. Then the woman's arm rose from her side to point in the direction they sailed, and Dany turned to see tall red spires emerging in the distance. _King's Landing._ The eastern winds pushed them swiftly in its direction, and Rhaegar's great tourney was at last about to begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, Dany is not an innocent little lamb like in a lot of "Rhaegar wins" fics. I like the idea that she was always destined to become the badass that we all know and love. She is a Targaryen princess, damnit, and she has a chip on her shoulder from not having a real home and being used as a pawn in Rhaegar's ambitions.
> 
> Also Viserys is a bit different here. He's more emotionally stable, having not grown up begging his way through Essos and plotting to reclaim the throne. But he's still very aware of his status as an afterthought, and let's just say Mel isn't exactly making him more content to play second fiddle to big bro and his brats.
> 
> Anyway, that's the last "setting the stage" chapter. Next up: tourney time.


	6. Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Stark reunion in King's Landing. Kind of a double chapter to make up for the delay. I've also included fancasts for my OC's and other characters not cast in the TV show - see notes at the end of the chapter if you're curious.

**King's Landing**

The capital was bustling with a level of activity unlike any Jon had ever seen - the King's tourney was at last about to commence. The Prince and his mother rode side by side through the winding streets toward the Dragon's Gate, which opened at the city's northern edge at the mouth of the kingsroad. "Are you excited, Jon?" asked the queen, smiling at her son from atop the white palfrey she road. Rhaegar was less than pleased when his wife announced her intent to ride out from the Red Keep to welcome the northern party to King's Landing. The King knew better than to deny his strong-willed wife in this matter, but he did insist on the company of twenty gold cloaks that now surrounded them.

"Of course I am, mother," said Jon, grinning back at her. "You know I grew close to your family during my time in the North. But what of you? It has been only two years since I left Winterfell - it's been far longer since you've seen your kin." Lyanna and her siblings had spent much of the past two decades a kingdom apart, besides a brief reunion when Brandon and Ned visited the capital after the Greyjoy Rebellion ten years prior.

The queen turned to him, her long dark hair buffeted by the breeze. The season had fully turned to autumn, and the city was alive not only with tourney-goers and those catering to them, but also with the farmers and foodsellers bringing in the harvest. "I cannot wait," said Lyanna, raising her voice to be heard above the shouts of merchants as they rode past a lively city market. "A pack of wolves cannot be kept apart forever. And I must see whether my brothers have aged as well as I have," she said, grey eyes twinkling.

Jon laughed. It was all too rare that Lyanna was able to leave her courtly duties behind and ride among the people. In moments like this he could see her regal stature fall away, revealing the wild and carefree lass that spent her childhood romping on horseback through the lands around Winterfell. Jon was sure those memories were at the fore of his mother's thoughts as their company at last approached the gate.

The raven sent ahead by the northern party predicting their arrival held true, for it was only a few minutes wait before the gate began to swing rise, and through the massive stone archway came riders holding banners with the sigils of Stark, Tully, and Arryn, among other noble houses of the three northernmost kingdoms. The lords themselves followed close behind their standard bearers, and Jon's heart leapt to see a group of familiar faces at their center. Riding slightly ahead was the tall, strapping figure of Jon's uncle and foster father, Lord Brandon. His handsome face broke into a broad grin as he spotted them. "Ho! There's a young prince I recognize! But Jon, who is this strange beauty you've brought to meet us?"

Lyanna slipped gracefully from her mount, then looked very un-queenlike as she rushed forward to throw her arms around her oldest brother. "Still a wise-arse, eh Brandon? Gods, it's good to see you."

Jon was not far behind his mother, stepping forward to greet the other Stark lord at Brandon's side. "Jon," said his uncle Ned warmly, clamping a hand on his nephew's shoulder.

 "Uncle Eddard," said Jon. "I welcome you to all to King's Landing," Jon met his younger uncle on only a few occasions during his five years in the north, when the Stark families visited one another. In those times, however, Jon formed a deep respect for Lord Eddard's quiet leadership.

"Come now, Prince Jon, enough with the formality. Give give your aunt a hug," said the woman to Ned's left. Lady Catelyn put her hands to either side of Jon's face, taking him in fondly before pulling him close. Lady Stark had treated Jon as one of her own children during his time at Winterfell. Catelyn embraced her life in the north, but she was a southron lady at heart, and as such she was always quite pleased to have a Targaryen prince for a nephew.

Beside them, Lady Ashara shared a polite greeting with Jon's mother. He recalled that Eddard's Dornish wife was once a close friend and lady-in-waiting to his father's first wife, Elia Martell. He knew it must be strange for her, meeting the woman that took Elia's place as Rhaegar's queen.

Lyanna turned to Ned, embracing him with equal vigor to which she'd given Brandon. "Oh, Ned, you're still the quiet one. Let me look at you - is that a gray hair I see?"

Jon did not remember seeing his uncle beam as he did now, reunited with his only sister. "If I've gone gray, it's from worrying about you so far from home, Lya," he teased. "Though from what I can tell, being queen still suits you well."

Jon's mother was close with all of her siblings, including Benjen, who was not able join them on this journey because of his duties at the Wall. But he knew she had a special love for Ned, who was her constant childhood companion before he was sent to ward in the Vale.

Behind the lords and ladies of Winterfell and Moat Cailin, Jon saw their children pushing to the fore with Robb in the lead. "Jon!" he shouted, brash as ever as he strode forth to take the prince in hand. It took some ime, but Jon had eventually succeeded in persuading his northern cousins to forego his royal title, and it warmed his heart to see they still viewed him more as a cousin than a prince. "It has been too long. Tell me, are you still a wolf? Or have these soft-skinned southrons made you a lizard again?"

Jon laughed. "I'm a wolf with wings, Robb. And I haven't forgotten how to fight like a northman, as you'll see very soon."

Eddard's son Damon emerged at Robb's side, reaching out to take Jon's hand. "I hear the jousting begins tomorrow. Will you be in the lists, Jon?" Damon seemed to have grown even larger since Jon last saw him, the brown-haired lad now standing well taller than Robb and broader of shoulder as well.

"I was never as good as Robb on horseback, Damon. I'll let him seek glory with the lance - it's the melee for me."

" _If_ your father decides to let you and Aegon take part," said Lyanna, clearly enjoying the sight of Jon trading japes with her brothers' sons. "Though he might feel more secure with this burly lad at your side. I'd expect the nephew of Arthur Dayne to be able to handle a sword." She winked at Damon, making her nephew blush.

"I'm no stranger to arms, Your Grace," said Damon, bowing. "The prince will be in good hands."

"Enough of that, call me Aunt Lyanna," said she. "I know I'm not familiar to you boys, but we'll soon correct that."

"We are glad of it," said Robb. "But where is our cousin the princess? Are you hiding her from us?"

"Vaena is not one for carousing through the streets of this city on horseback, unlike her her mother," Lyanna chuckled. "She's trying on gowns for the feast, no doubt. But you'll meet her soon enough."

"Sounds just like Sansa, I'm sure they'll be fast friends." Jon looked up to see his female cousins step forward. He was not not as close with Arya and Sansa as he was with their brothers, but he remembered them both fondly. He noted that both Stark daughters had further blossomed into women since he'd last seen them.

"Don't mind Arya," said Damon with a smirk. "She's just bitter about her bethrothal to a lad that's too young to wipe his own ars- ouch!" he said as his sister kicked him in the shin, her indigo eyes flashing.

"Oh, well congratulations, Arya!" said Lyanna. "Who is this lucky suitor?"

"Osmund Whent, your grace," said Sansa, looking flushed with excitement from meeting the royal aunt she'd heard so much about. "Arya will be the Lady of Harrenhal one day."

"Something she lacks any enthusiasm for," added Robb with a grin.

"He's barely old enough to be a squire," said Arya, glowering. "And I was hoping to avoid getting married at all."

"Well if you decide you don't like him, accidents have been known to happen at Harrenhal," said Jon, eliciting a small smile from Arya.

"Jon! I can see that your cousins bring out the worst in you," Lyanna laughed. "Come now, you lot. We have a few hours before the opening feast, and these lads look like they're in need of a bath or three." With that, the party began the final stretch of its journey, winding its way through the streets leading up to the Red Keep.

 

* * *

 

Jon took in the finery and spectacle surrounding him as he sat at the high table in Red Keep's great hall. Most of King Rhaegar's oldest, richest, and most powerful vassals were gathered in massive chamber, over five hundred lords and ladies in all. The air itself seemed to crackle with excitement in anticipation of the events in the days to come - the jousting, the melee, and the prominent betrothals that would set the course for the kingdom's future.

He was seated to the right of the King and Queen, and to his other side sat his uncle, Torean Tully. The Lords Paramount and their families were each being formally announced to the king before the feast would commence. "Now enters Robert Baratheon," cried the herald. "Lord of Storm's End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands."

That got Jon's attention, and he directed his gaze toward the hall's entrance where a hulking man with jet black hair strode in. Jon recalled that Lord Robert was a childhood friend of his uncle Ned, having fostered together at the Eyrie. His mother told him once that Robert had intended to ask for her hand in marriage, before Rheagar beat him to the task. Jon assumed it was no mere coincidence then that when Rhaegar rose in rebellion, Robert's forces stood idly in the Stormlands rather than aid in the Prince's cause.

At Robert's side was his wife, Lady Janna. The handsome brown-haired woman was younger sister of Mace Tyrell. Their marriage gave birth to an alliance between the Stormlands and the Reach, another kingdom that was not among Rhaegar's allies in the great war.

"The stags return to King's Landing," spoke Torean in Jon's ear. "This should be interesting." Robert had scarely been seen in the capital in the years since the Rebellion, but he and Lady Janna were said to keep a lively court at Storm's End. Robert was known to be a bawdy and virile man, and Jon noted that the lad trailing behind him shared his father's looks as well as his confident swagger.

"Lord Robert has the look of a warrior still, as does his son Edric," said Jon, turning to his uncle. "It would be for the better if we can forge a new friendship between our house and theirs."

Torean looked skeptical. The heir to Riverrun was just a year younger than Jon, and though they were close kin they did not know each other well after spending their childhoods apart. But Jon could see why the 'River Dragon' was apple of his mother Rhaella's eye. Torean was a handsome young man, his reddish-gold hair worn short, and there was a clear intelligence behind his dark blue eyes. "No doubt it would, Jon - as long as Aegon keeps his hands off Baratheon's daughter."

The two men both shot glances to the other side of the table, where Jon's brother was talking a healthy gulp from his goblet of arbor red. "You've must have heard the whispers," Torean added. "It's rumored that your brother will make his own decision as to whom he takes to wife."

Jon almost choked on his own wine. "Father would never allow that. He he's forming his own plans for us, for better or worse. Just like he always does."

"Of couse he is, and we both know that. But the many highborn young ladies gathered here do not, maidens who harbor dreams of being queen," said Torean. "Who do you suppose would benefit from a rumor that gives them extra incentive to endear themselves to the crown prince?"

"Gods, Aegon," Jon sighed, shaking his head as he felt the truth in his uncle's words. He could not put it past his brother to attempt bedding a flock of maidens before marriage forced him to temper his lusty ways. "I wonder if this is why my sister looks less than pleased." Princess Rhaeneys, normally all smiles and laughter at Aegon's side, was currently glaring silently into space as if she intended to melt a hole in the castle's wall.

"I suspect the two matters may be related," said Torean, chuckling ruefully.

"I will keep an eye on him," said Jon. With the Baratheons now seated, the servants now began pouring out into the great hall bearing large plates of steaming fare, and the feast at last could commence.

 

* * *

 

"Would you join me for a dance, my prince?"

The meal had just completed, and with the center of the chamber now clear and musicians playing, many lords and ladies now took to the floor. Jon looked up to see Arianne Martell standing before him. Her long, silky black hair flowed down her back, held to her brow by a bronze circlet bearing the fiery sun of house Martell.

Jon was startled. "Of course, Princess... but I must warn you, music and my feet often fail to agree."

Arrianne let out a husky laugh, extending a jeweled hand toward him. "I have seen the way you move with a sword in your hand. You could be just as graceful here, with the proper partner of course. Come."

Jon did as the lady commanded, and soon found himself moving in time to the music with no small amount of guidance from the woman across him. "Have you ever been to Dorne, Prince Jon?" Arianne asked, as the steps called for them to draw close together. The princess was draped in a thin silk gown of orange and gold, not quite loose enough to hide the shapely body within.

"I have not, but Aegon often tells tales of his visits there. He takes great pride in his Dornish blood." Jon stood a full head taller than the princess, and he did his best to keep his gaze focused on the large, dark eyes staring up at him. He resisted the urge to look lower, where the sheer silk covering her chest hinted at the large, dark circles beneath it.

"Your brother may love our kindom, but he does not understand it." Arianne scoffed. "Aegon sees women as playthings, only good for pleasuring their husbands and giving them babes." She spun gracefully, circling around Jon as she spoke. "That is not the way of things in Dorne. A woman can rule, or fight, or fuck just as well as man, if she's raised to know she can do so. Such are the women of Dorne."

Jon laughed, feeling himself becoming more comfortable with the Dornish beauty. "Well said, princess," he said. "I have heard similar things from my mother's mouth, though in different words. Perhaps the north and south have more in common than we know."

As they made their next turn, Jon saw Aegon nearby, paired with an attractive girl who he thought must be Margaery Tyrell. It was said that Lord Mace harbored queenly ambitions for the fair flower of the Reach, and she looked quite pleased to be in the arms of the crown prince while the realm looked on.

"Perhaps they do," said Arianne, pulling back his attention as her hands moved to grip his muscled arms while they danced. "Either way, I am glad to hear you say it. I think you would do well in Dorne."

Jon felt his pulse quicken in response to her sultry grin. _I just condemned Aegon for thinking with his cock_ , he warned himself. _I had best not do the same._

Behind Arianne, he saw his cousin Damon being lead by the hand toward one of the room's exits, unnoticed by most of the revelers. Damon's companion was a short, buxom young woman Jon did not recognize. _Speaking of which_ , Jon thought wryly.

His ruminations came to an abrupt halt as they pivoted again, turning so that he now faced his older sister seated at the high table. Rhaenys' earlier frown was now further deepened, her gaze fixed angrily upon Arianne. "My sister does not seem happy with your choice of partner," he said, lowering his voice.

"Rhaenys isn't pleased with much in recent days," said Arianne. "You are far from her largest concern." Rhaenys noticed that Jon had caught her glaring; they locked eyes for a quick moment before she turned away.

"It is not just recent days for me," said Jon, sighing. "My sister treats me like an unwanted house guest overstaying his welcome."

"You are the brother she never asked for," said Arianne. "She cannot see you as anything but a threat to her precious Aegon."

"But I love my brother," said Jon, trying to contain his frustration. "He will be my king one day. I would never act against him."

"I believe you, my prince," said Arianne reassuringly. "And so will your sister, if you can find a way to prove your loyalty."

As the song ended, Jon found himself wondering how he'd find an opportunity to do just that.

 

* * *

 

**Damon**

  
The heir to Moat Cailin felt almost lightheaded as Myranda Royce lead him by hand through the halls of the Tower of the Hand, approaching the chamber she'd been given as a prominent member of the Arryn contingent. Damon had enjoyed the older girl's attentions ever since their first conversation at Harrenhal, and she'd often sent smiles and jests his way during the remainder of their journey to the capital.

Still, he'd been caught off guard when after their dance she made the whispered suggestion that they steal away from the feast. Damon's family kept a relatively small household at Moat Cailin, and his experience with women was limited to say the least. He didn't understand the interest that the pretty, confident lady of the Vale showed in him, but he didn't begrudge it either.

"There now," said Myranda as she pushed open the door to her chamber, Damon following close behind. "It is good to be alone after so much dull chatter, is it not?"

She turned to retake his hand, guiding him to sit on the large chair beside her bed. At two and twenty, Myranda was five years Damon's senior, and Damon often found himself following her lead as if she were a septa guiding his lessons. _A very attractive septa._

As Damon folded his bulky form into the plush armchair, Myranda surprised him by sliding promptly onto his lap. "Well, hello there," he said, as she giggled at his unnecessary greeting.

"Hello, Damon." The Royce girl's face was slighly flushed, her chestnut curls arrayed decadently around her shoulders as she leaned forward to kiss him. "I've wanted to do that since we first met."

"As have I," replied Damon before leaning forward to kiss her again. Myranda's high, wide cheeks framed an angular chin, and he placed his hand beneath it as she raised her small mouth to his. He felt her tongue push its way into his mouth, and, perhaps emboldened by the cups of wine drank with dinner, he slid his hand around her to grip at her ample behind.

"There he is, gaining confidence I see," Myranda teased. As they kissed once more, her hands moved to the laces crossing the front of her violet gown, whose bodice had struggled to contain her substantial bosom throughout the night.

Damon's manhood was already stirring, but he felt it truly stiffen as she deftly unlaced her bodice, the garment at last giving way to expose its holdings. Damon could not help but stare at Myranda's bare breasts, large and ripe yet supported by the firmness of youth. Wide pink nipples decorated their centers, surrounded by milky white skin with a few sparse freckles at their tops. "Do you like them, Damon?" Myranda asked, smiling with an air of mock innocence.

"I... yes. Yes, I do," Damon managed, as she took his hands in her own and moved them to her breasts. Damon had large hands, even bigger than Uncle Brandon's, but even his massive mitts could not fully contain her heavy teats. He slowly massaged her mounds, working his way toward their tips until his thumbs brushed across her nipples.

Myranda's breathing grew louder as she leaned into his touch. "You can kiss them if you'd like," she said softly.

Damon did not need to be told twice, grabbing her by her hips to move her such that she now straddled him in the chair. He lowered his head to her chest, kissing first at the top of her breast, then slowly downward, til eventually he teased his tongue across its rosy center. He began to swirl his tongue around its tip, encouraged by Myranda's moans of satisfaction, and was surprised as her nipple hardened, growing outward into his mouth as he began to suck it greedily.

"Oh, yes," moaned Myranda, slowly moving her hips to rub herself against him as she ran her hands through his hair. "Tell me Damon," she said as he moved to suck at her other teat. "Would you like your lady wife to have breasts like these?"

Damon paused in his activities, as Myranda's hands moved to caress his well-built chest and shoulders, enjoying his physique as much as he did hers. "Are you-" he started, before pausing, unsure how best to proceed. "Do you want to..."

"Yes, Damon," she said matter-of-factly. "I broached the subject with your father before the feast, and he was amenable. I could move forward as soon as tomorrow. If you want me, that is."

Her hand now moved down to his breeches, pushing past his smallclothes to find purchase on his manhood. Damon was overwhelmed at this point, torn between the need to absorb this momentous news and the sensation of a girl's hand wrapped around his member. Before he could form a response, she'd pulled it free from his breeches so that it now stood openly at attention.

Myranda raised an eyebrow, looking pleased as she eyed his manhood. "I had a feeling you'd impress, but you've surpassed my expectations. An important quality in a husband." She licked her palm before gripping him once more, sliding her hand slowly up and down his shaft.

Her other hand reached beneath his cock, her fingers gently cupping the large stones that hung below. "And these feel more than capable of planting a brood of young Starks in my womb."

Damon closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation while attempting to clear his head. "I want you, Myranda... but do you have the power to do this without your father here?"

"Yes, silly, would I be asking if I didn't? Father entrusted me to arrange a suitable betrothal at the tourney, and I believe I've found one." This talk of practical matters did not distract Myranda from her task, her pace quickening as she now tugged with both hands in unison along his impressive length.

"It's a logical match," she continued. "Two ancient houses that have united in marriage before. And with your sister Arya at Harrenhal, my family in Vale, and ourselves at Moat Cailin, we'll form a powerful trio of allies controlling the center of the kingdom."

Damon rarely concerned himself with political thinking, but he was damned if her ambitious words didn't arouse him even further. "By the gods, Myranda, you're going to make me-"

Before he could finish, she stopped her ardent ministrations, leaving just one hand to continue its service more gently. "Not so soon, dear. You wouldn't want to spill yourself without first giving me some pleasure. Listen, now," she said. "Have you done this with a girl before?"

"I know little of these things," he admitted. He'd kissed a daughter of Lord Locke one night after a wedding at White Harbor, but that was the extent of his experience.

"I suspected as much," said Myranda primly. "Not to worry - let me show you." With that she took his hand, her other still stroking his member, and guided him underneath her skirts and smallclothes, until he found the soft lips at her center.

Myranda let out a deep breath as he pushed two of his fingers slowly within her. "See, you've made me wet with your kisses," she said, and he could feel the truth of it, her warm, moist inner walls welcoming his intrusion. After a few moments she returned her hand to his, guiding him upward until he found the small, hooded nub at the crest of her entrance. "There," she said softly, moaning as Damon began instinctively tracing tight, quick circles around her bud of pleasure.

Struck by inspiration, Damon leaned forward to whisper in her ear as he touched her. "Does that feel good, Lady Stark?" Myranda groaned in approval at his use of the title she desired, causing Damon to grin victoriously. He liked this strange, clever girl who would apparently be his wife, and who so skillfully pursued her goals until they were achieved. Damon intended to give her much more of what she wanted, and he suspected she'd do the same for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think Myranda seems a little odd, re-read her chapter from AFFC. She's a weirdo (but I love it).
> 
> Just for fun, here are my fancasts for the OC's and some of the characters not in the show (yes, they're all good-looking - sorry):
> 
> Lyanna Stark -> Katie McGrath  
> Brandon Stark -> Clive Standen  
> Ashara Dayne -> Jullia Voth  
> Damon Stark -> Ian Somerhalder  
> Arya Stark-Dayne -> Julia Godani Telles  
> Vaena Targaryen -> Amanda Seyfried  
> Aegon Targaryen -> Chris Hemsworth  
> Rhaenys Targaryen -> Sandra Echeverria  
> Rhaella Targaryen -> Glenn Close  
> Torean Tully -> Chris Pine  
> Arianne Martell -> Priyanka Chopra  
> Myranda Royce -> Jenna Coleman  
> Fair Walda Frey -> Melanie Thierry  
> Jon Snow -> James Franco (just kidding)


	7. Aegon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This turned out longer than I expected - whoops! Oh well, lots of ground to cover in Aegon-world.

Though he was surrounded by the sights, sounds and spectacle of the tourney, Aegon felt more at peace than he had in days. The neighs of horses, the clang of steel as knights fitted their lances and strapped into armor, the laughs of maidens and bellows of men taking wagers on the lists - the prince welcomed each and every distraction. He had sailed through the first few rounds of the joust, and with each victory he felt the stresses of recent days melt away. There was nothing like breaking a sweat to forget one's troubles - either in the training yard, the lists, or with a lady in the sheets. It was the latter act, however, that had him in hot water at the moment.

It wasn't as if he'd intended to start the rumor. He'd been walking with Eleanor Mooton a few days prior when she she'd fixed him with that hopeful gaze, asking whether he would be permitted to marry for love like his father had. Aegon hadn't exactly denied it - who was he to disabuse a doe-eyed maiden of her romantic notions?

The thought of winning the heart of a prince brought the pretty blonde girl to her knees quickly enough, Aegon recalled wryly. And if Eleanor wanted to imagine a crown resting on her fair curls while she sucked his cock, what was the harm in it? Not the sharpest girl, perhaps, but she seemed clever enough to know that she'd never be queen - and her "tryst" with the crown prince would make a salacious story to tell her friends back in Maidenpool.

But alas, the Mooton girl had apparently swallowed Aegon's lie as eagerly as she'd swallowed his seed, and the word had spread. Now it seemed half the young ladies in the realm were attempting catch his eye and win his hand. There were far worse problems to have, that was certain, but there was a downside - and its name was Rhaenys.

Aegon looked to his older sister, who sat at their father's side under a the royal canopy surveying the lists. Normally his strong performance in the tilts would have pleased Rhaenys greatly - she liked nothing more than to see her brother prove his superiority over other men. Indeed, normally she would privately reward him after such feats. But there would be no reward today, Aegon sensed - though he wore his sister's favor, it was granted out of obligation rather than forgiveness.

He cringed as he recalled her fury when Rhaenys confronted him the night before. The Dornish heat ran through his sister's blood, that much was certain - though that was hard to appreciate when words like _whoremonger_ were spat in his direction. He had claimed innocence, of course - what sane man wouldn't? But she had rejected his denials, and Aegon never was very good at apologizing.

Aegon knew he was in the wrong, but was still indignant. _I am a prince, not a septon. I can't be expected to bury every desire._ His older sister had always kept him close at her side throughout their childhood, convincing him that they could not trust their Stark stepmother or her children. Rhaenys said if they stayed united, they would be king and queen one day, and could keep each other safe. And he'd been foolish enough to believe her, until a remark from Viserys cast a shadow of doubt a few years prior.

"Rhaegar believes it was our undiluted blood that lead to our father's madness," his uncle had said one night, well in his cups. "You and Rhaenys will not wed. He'll marry you to the grasping daughter of a lesser house, just as he did himself."

Never one to place much faith in Viserys, Aegon posed the question to his father soon after that night. But the King was cryptic as ever. "It is too early for such talk," he would say, before growing quiet or raising a different subject. Aegon and Rhaenys still remained close after that - he wanted his sister's love, to keep her safe and give her what she desired. But the shared destiny Rhaenys spoke of began to seem less and less inevitable.

After her tongue-lashing the prior night, Aegon awoke that morning feeling in need of a good romp to focus his mind on the afternoon's joust. Having been spurned by Rhaenys, he'd choosen among the many other maidens eager for a tumble with a prince.

The women of house Bracken had a history as consorts to Targaryen kings, and apparently Lord Jonos' eldest daughter wanted to revive that legacy. "Oh yes, my prince," the busty, brown-haired girl had moaned as Aegon took her up against the wall of her chamber, her hands gripping his muscled shoulders possessively while her younger sister stood guard outside the door.

 _But I will not be yours_ , Aegon had thought amid his thrusts. The prince had always enjoyed the attentions of women, it was true. But he took care to avoid fathering any bastards. He wanted to be known as Aegon the Brave, or the Strong - not the Unworthy. He spent his seed on Barbara's ample teats, rather than inside her. The world did not need another Bittersteel.

Aegon's thoughts were interrupted by the herald's cry announcing that the penultimate tilt was set to commence. "Hailing from Highgarden, the Knight of Flowers, Ser Loras Tyrell!" Lord Mace's son had lived up to his reputation thus far, knocking his combatants from their horses with effortless grace, and looking the very image of chivalry as he did it.

For his part, one of the Aegon's toughest bouts had been his first, where he'd broken three lances with a man called Cassel of Winterfell before finally claiming victory. He moved through the next few rounds with ease, unhorsing Dickon Tarly and Balon Swann of the Kingsgaurd each on the first pass, before a slightly more trying win over Lord Beric Dondarrion.

His first real challenge came in the semifinal, where he tilted against Robb Stark of Winterfell. Jon warned him of his cousin's prowess on horseback, and the Stark heir did not disappoint. On their first tilt, the Young Wolf's lance struck Aegon on the shoulder, sending him twisting halfway off his saddle and bringing gasps from the crowd. But Aegon recovered his balance, and seeing the confident smirk on the Stark boy's face sent a competitive fire surging through him. _The dragon awakens_ , he'd thought as he bore down on his opponent for a second pass, raw adrenaline freeing his mind from the pain in his shoulder.

He'd noted that Stark carried his shield a bit too low - a flaw he intended to exploit. Aegon crouched low in the saddle throughout his approach, before rising at the last possible moment, using his edge in height to bring his lance down on the upper edge of Robb's shield with all the force his right arm could muster. The shield bearing the Stark direwolf tilted back into its bearer's chest, allowing Aegon's lance to smash forward into the left side of Robb's breastplate.

Aegon noted with satisfaction the surprise in the Stark lad's eyes in the moment he was lifted from his saddle before landing in the dirt with a heavy thud. The concern from the Stark contingent quickly abated as Robb gathered his bearings and rose to his feet, only a bit wobbly, to bow to the crown prince. _Jon was right_ , Aegon had thought as he showed his respect with a nod to the pride of Winterfell. _These northerners are a rugged bunch._

"And his opponent," the herald bellowed, as a humongous figure emerged opposite sir Loras. "Ser Gregor, of House Clegane." The gigantic knight was a feared lieutenant of Tywin Lannister, enforcing his rule in ruthless fashion throughout the Westerlands. Riding his massive black destrier, Clegane had made easy work of his prior opponents. One, the poor Ser Hugh of the Vale, had been caught in the gorget by Ser Gregor's lance, the crown unsure if he was alive or dead as his bloodied form was dragged from the field. _The mountain and the rose_ , thought the Prince as he eyed the combatants. _This I cannot miss._

Aegon looked to the stands, where Ser Loras' sister looked on nervously. _Strange to see her lacking confidence for once._ Lady Margaery was known to be one of the primary candidates for Aegon's hand, and he'd found himself the focus of her attentions since she arrived in the capital. She was a focus of his as, well - who would have thought Mace Tyrell could sire such a beauty? Aegon supposed it was in his best interest to root for Ser Loras - he wasn't likely to get inside Margaery's skirts if her brother was in the infirmary.

Before he could consider further, the herald's horn blew and the tilt began. It was a tale of contrasts, the hulking behemoth bearing down on the lithe form of Loras Tyrell. At their first pass, Tyrell was somehow able to dodge the Mountain's lance completely, his shield lifting at the last moment to reveal nothing but empty air behind. Clegane nearly toppled forward before regaining his balance, Loras rapping him on the helm with his lance as he passed to the great delight of the crowd. The Mountain's rage was palpable as Loras bowed to the cheering onlookers. _Not wise to poke at the bear_ , thought Aegon.

When the combatants made their second pass, Loras went for the victory, nimbly slipping his lance below Gregor's shield to strike him square in the ribs. But it was not so easy to move a mountain. Gregor barely flinched at the impact, his own lance breaking through Loras' shield to hammer him in the shoulder and drive him to the dirt. "Ha!" Gregor bellowed as he circled his warhorse in victory on the opposite end of the list. "Make a fool out of me will you, flower boy? You're lucky I don't trample you underfoot."

Loras was shaken but mostly unharmed, to the crowd's relief. His face was beet red as he stormed wordlessly from the field, not quite the gracious loser that Robb Stark had been. Aegon almost chuckled at the downfall of the cocky young knight, before reality gripped him. There was only one rider left to face Clegane. He turned to the Mountain, who was staring straight back at him, a cold grin visible under his helm.

Aegon turned to his squire, young Crispin Celtigar. The lad had gone so pale it looked as if he thought he himself would ride against the Mountain. "Right, Crisp," said Aegon, projecting all the calmness he could muster. "First, some wine. Then, grab me the other shield."

"Wine, ser?" said the boy, clearly thinking he'd misheard the prince.

"Yes, lad, the shield for my body, the wine for my head. Quickly now, I have a tourney to win."

As Crispin scampered back to the tent, Aegon looked up, noting that the sun's mid-afternoon position almost squarely at his back. _Just as I'd hoped_ , thought the Prince. His squire returned, handing him a flagon of wine. Aegon took a deep drink, then looked toward the other item the boy fetched.

"Give it here, Crisp," said the prince, and his squire handed over a magnificent black shield. A gift from Aegon's father on his sixteenth nameday, the oaken shield was painted jet black, embedded with small rubies that formed the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. Aegon held it aloft, smiling to see the rubies glittering in the sunlight. _I may have a chance._

Downing the rest of the flagon, Aegon grabbed the shield and swung athletically onto his mount. As he cantered toward the lists, the herald proclaimed his entrance over the din of the crowd. "The Crown Prince, son of King Rhaegar, Aegon Targaryen." The response from the audience was deafening - Aegon was well liked by the people, mostly due to his tendency to go out and drink among them in taverns across King's Landing. He was everything that his cold, distant father was not, and both the court and the smallfolk loved him for it.

Aegon smiled and waved to the crowd, his eyes moving toward the royal pavilion. Jon flashed him a grin that was betrayed by the worry in his eyes. Great Uncle Aemon, though blind as bat, seemed to be staring straight at him, his expression unreadable. His grandmother Rhaella did not try to hide her concern - Aegon felt a pang of guilt to see the open fear on the older woman's face. Rhaegar looked grim, but how could he judge Aegon for seeking glory in the lists? The King himself had done the very same at his son's age, twenty years prior at Harrenhal.

But Aegon was not focused on any of them - his eyes were for Rhaenys, who at long last deigned to return his gaze. She sat straight-backed, her head held high, and gave him a quick, almost imperceptible nod.

Aegon returned it, feeling slightly heartened, before the hulking figure of Gregor Clegane cast a shadow across the field. It was time. The horn blew, and he spurred his horse into a charge.

The prince held his lance aloft, but kept his shield low. He still felt an ache in his shoulder from Robb Stark's blow, and he felt the soreness and fatigue from a full day of tilts in each arm. He'd seen what the Mountain had done to other riders, the raw power that the giant could unleash. Aegon knew there would be no trading of broken lances this time - he'd have only one pass at Clegane.

His ears were filled with the thundering of hooves above the pounding of his heartbeat. Aegon's grip tightened on the lance, his left hand still holding the shield lower and more loosely than he normally would. His timing would have to be perfect. Aegon focused on the head of clegane's monstrous black mount, waiting until it was two lengths away from his own steed before raising his shield aloft. The rubies set the shield's dark face caught the light of the afternoon sun, sparkling like a hundred tiny comets in the night sky. It was not enough to blind Clegane, far from it, but the giant blinked in the face of its glare for just an instant.

Aegon rose up in his stirrups, using his long reach and muscled right arm to launch his lance like an iron fist, finding a gap to the side of the Mountain's shield. The force knocked Clegane back on his saddle before his own lance could strike Aegon, and for a moment it looked as if Gregor would regain his balance. But the Mountain was unprepared for the impact of the prince's thrust, and with his balance lost, the momentum of his heavily armored frame pulled him like an avalanche toward the earth.

The Mountain hit the ground with a thunderous crash, a cloud of dust rising into the air from the impact. The crowd was stunned into silence, eyes on Clegane as he climbed to his feet with a roar of terrifying rage. "You little shit," he bellowed, his deep voice vibrating with menace. "I'm going to-"

"Enough!" came another voice, softer but projecting a cold authority that caused every head to turn. King Rhaegar had risen from his seat, standing tall and rigid and staring straight at the Mountain. "You have lost, ser. I suggest you watch your tongue when addressing my son, before you lose that as well."

Clegane stared back at the King defiantly for a moment, before turning away, grabbing his destrier by the reigns and yanking it away from the lists as if it were a small dog.

Rhaegar nodded to the herald, and the onlookers at last exhaled as the trumpets sounded. "The champion, the Daring Dragon, Prince Aegon Targaryen!"

Aegon's eyes had been glued to Clegane, his hand inching toward the pommel of his sword. But the roar of the crowd allowed him to relax and at last, to revel in the moment. _I won the joust_ , thought the prince, smiling and waving as he trotted on horseback past the cheering crowd. _Just like father_.

As he neared the opposite end of the list, he saw a grinning attendant holding forth a flowered crown. Roses of the deepest red, intertwined with black dahlias - the colors of his house. Aegon took the crown in hand, his mind suddenly racing as he spurred his horse back toward the center of the pavilion. The stands were full of pretty young maidens batting their eyes, along with young knights and lordlings trying to hide their jealousy.

 _Damn the gods_ , thought Aegon. _Can't I enjoy my victory for even a moment before being thrust into another gauntlet?_  The prince was well aware that naming a Queen of Love and Beauty was not always a mere formality; his father had crowned Lyanna at Harrenhall, and arranged their bethrothal shortly after.

As that thought crossed his mind, Aegon passed the Tyrells. Ser Loras had rejoined his family, offering Aegon a curt nod in acknowledgement of his vanquishing of the Mountain. At his side was Margaery, who did not beam at him expectantly as other girls had. The corner of her mouth turned up into the slightest grin, and she arched an eyebrow at him before nodding as her brother had.

Aegon gave her the hint of a wink before riding onward toward where his family sat. All were smiling, even Daenarys and Viserys, neither of whom Aegon counted among his greatest supporters. He returned the larger grins of Jon and Vaena, before giving a nod of thanks to his father. The King's face was unreadable as always, but Aegon thought he detected a shine of emotion in Rhaegar's lilac eyes.

At last, Aegon's eyes met with his older sister's. Rhaenys looked half a goddess, draped in a tight-fitting sleeveless gown of red and black, the plunging neckline revealing the bronze skin of her chest. She seemed to be at war with herself, pride and relief struggling against the animosity that smoldered only moments before.

Aegon knew how this particular battle would be won. He slipped the flowered crown onto the end of his lance, holding it aloft and extending it toward the princess seated above him. Rhaenys rose to her feet, the clamor from the crowd rising along with her. She held out a hand to take the crown, her bearing proud and regal as as she placed it on her head to the people's roaring approval.

The violet eyes of the princess bored into Aegon's, her lips pursing into a small smirk meant only for him. After a childhood spent at his sister's side, Aegon knew how to read her expression. _Good boy_ , her face conveyed, the words unspoken. _I may just forgive you yet_.

* * *

  
When at last he had a moment to himself after all the revelry, Aegon was unable to stifle a lingering sense of annoyance. He had won a great tourney with half the realm bearing witness. He'd toppled the bloody Mountain, for gods' sake - trickery or no. This was his crowning achievement. And yet it culminated like so many other moments in his young life: with him gazing up at his sister, seeking her approval and forgiveness.

As a result of that bitterness, Aegon now found himself walking with a different highborn beauty through the gardens of the Red Keep, gazing out at a sky turned the shade of a ripened peach by the setting sun. "You were marvelous today, my prince," said the companion at his side.

"Thank you, my lady," said Aegon, turning to behold Lady Margaery Tyrell. She looked fit to accompany the hero of the lists, clad in a teal gown embroidered with golden roses, her chestnut hair done up in elaborate braids, with more curly tresses cascading down her back.

"That was clever of you, to distract him with your shield," said Margaery. "Are you always unafraid of cutting corners, if it means getting what you want?"

The playful question gave Aegon pause. He'd learned to tread carefully with the daughter of Highgarden, whose beauty hid thorns like like the rose of her sigil. "A crown prince tends to get he wants, my lady," he said, projecting confidence. "Cutting corners is rarely necessary."

Margaery laughed. "I've heard this prince has many wants, and many appetites. Will you still live your life so voraciously when you sit the Iron Throne?"

Aegon was not surprised that she'd heard tales of his tastes for drinking, women, and making the odd bit of trouble. "Think of it this way, Lady Margaery," he said, extending his arm for her to take as they strolled. "I could choose to behave as the model prince, as my father did. Dedicating my youth to studying among the maesters, practicing the harp, and kneeling at the sept." Margaery could not help but chuckle at the unlikely image.

"But that would only raise expectations, as it did for my father," Aegon continued. "After he dethroned Aerys, the people thought he would cure all the ills of Westeros. And has he?"

"I don't think any king could solve every problem in the kingdom," said Margaery, somewhat intrigued.

"Exactly," said Aegon. "The smallfolk will always be hungry, the lords will always squabble, and winter will always be cold." He felt frustration brewing as he voiced feelings he rarely spoke of.

"Do not mistake me," he continued. "I fully intend to be a good king, even a great one. But I will not be perfect. And so for now I am content to be known as the frivolous prince, only concerned with hunts and drink and jests."

"And when you do sit the throne?" asked Margaery.

"I will smash through the expectations of those who doubt me," said Aegon, determination in his voice. "I will surprise, rather than disappoint. I will rule, my lady - and rule well."

He had Margaery's full attention now, and he knew it. "I may have been among those who underestimated you, my prince," she said with a grin.

"And what of you, Lady Margaery?" asked Aegon, turning toward her. "You're the daughter of a great house. Surely there are moments where you imagine yourself as queen." _Perhaps every waking moment_ , he thought wryly. "What sort of queen would you be?"

His companion released her hold on the prince's arm, walking forward to lean on the balcony ahead of them. Her close-fitting gown gave witness to her form, and what a form it was. Lady Margaery was slender and petite, but her hips flared out in an eye-catching manner, and the fabric of her dress hugged tightly against her spectacular arse, round and shapely like a fresh-picked apple from the Reach. 

"My grandmother trained me since I was a little girl," said Margaery as Aegon came to lean against the rail beside her. "Not how to be a proper lady, that duty fell to my mother," she said with a chuckle. "Grandmother trained me in diplomacy, in courtly intrigue, in how to pursue my goals without making them known. She trained me to be a queen."

"It sounds as if you'd make a frightfully good one," said Aegon with a chuckle.

Margaery turned toward him, her brown eyes shining. "My grandmother can be ruthless at times, always seeking to push our house to new heights. I learned that from her, but I try to be selfless as well."

"Good Queen Alysanne reborn," said Aegon, sensing that flattery was his ally here.

Margaery let out a peal of laughter, proving his instinct correct. "Yes, I suppose so. I would be strive to be kind to the smallfolk, beloved by the people, a source of wisdom for my King... and of pleasure as well," she said, grinning wickedly.

Aegon sensed his moment arriving, taking Margaery by the hand and leading her down a garden path to a place where two large hedges formed a private alcove against the stone wall. He nodded to Ser Arys Oakheart behind them, and the Kingsgaurd turned to block the path from unwanted intrusions. The prince could not afford to have Rhaenys learn of this particular caper.

"You bring out the fire in my blood when you speak that way," he said, placing a finger under her chin and lifting her pretty, heart-shaped face toward his own.

"Do I?" asked Margaery, her small nose crinkling playfully as she raised her full lips to his. Aegon gripped her slim waist, pulling her closer as they kissed, her hands moving across his broad chest. "It is only right that I please my prince, after he so bravely avenged my brother in the lists."

As they continued to kiss, Aegon slipped an arm around her lower back, his hand sliding just low enough to rest atop her curvy rear. Margaery did not discourage him, moving her own hands down from his chest, stopping to caress approvingly at his muscled abdomen before trailing lower still. She then reached deftly into his breeches, her long, slender fingers quickly finding a grip on his hardening member.

"Well, well, your grace," she said softly, beginning to stroke up and down his growing shaft inside his smallclothes. "I see why you don't keep an empty bed. It would be a shame to put an _asset_ like this to waste."

Aegon's breathing picked up - he was quite pleased with this development. "Would you like to get to know it better?" he asked as he reached for her skirts, pulling them up to expose the milky skin of her lower thigh.

Margaery moved with startling quickness, her unoccupied hand swiftly swatting him away from her leg. "No no no, my prince," she said, grinning deliciously. "I'm afraid I'll at least need a betrothal before I allow you to pluck my rose. And unlike those other silly girls, I don't believe for a moment that your father will let you choose your wife with your cock."

Her hand ceased in its ministrations, to Aegon's chagrin - he was not accustomed to being denied. "You have a cruel and callous heart, Lady Margaery," he said, "to leave me in such a state."

"Let us hope your royal father makes the right choice for your hand," said Margaery with a smirk. "Until then, well... I suggest you put it to use." With that she sauntered off, leaving a chuckling Kingsgaurd standing in her wake.

 _These headstrong women will be the death of me_ , thought the Prince as he gathered his wits. "Not a word," he growled as he pushed his way past Ser Arys, intent on finding the nearest barrel of Dornish red, when a different shade of crimson flashed in the corner of his eye. The prince turned to see three young ladies out for a garden stroll of their own. The girl in the center had long hair that shone a deep red, reflecting the light of the dying sun behind her. It took Aegon a moment to recognize her as Jon's northern cousin, Lady Sansa of House Stark.

"Good evening," said Aegon, recovering his manners. This was his first time speaking with the daughter of Brandon Stark since her arrival in the capital, and he was surprised he hadn't take notice of her sooner. A shade younger than Lady Margaery, Sansa was a true northern beauty, and she did not blush or falter as she curtsied before him.

"Prince Aegon," said the Stark girl, her soft smile contrasting with the broad grins of her companions as they ogled the crown prince. "You were truly gallant in the lists today. Congratulations on your victory."

"Thank you, Lady Sansa," said Aegon. "Your brother was a worthy opponent. He honored the Stark name well." He counted himself lucky that the proper words had formed on his lips, for his mind seemed frozen by the piercing blue eyes of this maiden of Winterfell.

"He did," said Sansa, nodding slightly. "Robb is not known for his grace in defeat, but it seemed he made an exception for the future king."

Aegon was impressed by the girl's candor. She reminded him of her Aunt Lyanna, not in her coloring but in the quiet confidence she conveyed.

"Well, I had best go prepare for the feast," said Aegon. "Even the champion of the lists must not be late for dinner. Enjoy your stroll in the gardens, ladies."

"Thank you, my prince," said Sansa Stark, again flashing a smile as subtle as it was enchanting. Her handmaidens broke out in giggles and whispers behind Aegon as he walked away, but he hardly heard them. His mind was focused on the women that beguiled him, with one more added to their number - this intriguing young daughter of the north.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short Sansa tease, the chapter was too long already but had to sneak it in. My take on Aegon was inspired by Prince Hal in Shakespeare's Henry IV (shoutout to The Hollow Crown on BBC). Basically he wants to fool around and enjoy his youth, but justifies it by saying that he's setting the bar low and will surpass everyone's low expectations when he becomes king. Maybe not the most practical strategy, but hey, if it's good enough for Will...


	8. Robb

It was a fine, crisp autumn day as their party rode through the Kingswood - the perfect day for a hunt. The early afternoon sun shone through the canopy of leaves overhead, and Robb felt his spirits rise as he trotted along atop his dappled grey courser.

It was common practice to take a day's break between the joust and the melee in southron tourneys, to give the combatants time to rest and regroup. _Lucky for me_ , thought Robb, wincing at the soreness that lingered in his chest, shoulder and most embarrassingly, his rear.

Robb's arse wasn't the only thing that was wounded, but his pride as well - though he supposed that if he had to lose to someone, it may as well be the crown prince. He couldn't hold too deep a grudge against Jon's brother, but he was glad the cocky Targaryen heir had declined to join them on today's excursion.

It was a party of the North and the Stormlands that had set forth from city, and Robb focused his gaze on the lords at their head. His father Lord Brandon was a large man, tall and broad of shoulder, but he was no match in size for the burly figure beside him. Robert Baratheon was Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, but Robb thought he behaved more like a bawdy hedge knight. Robert spent the past few days feasting and jesting with his fellow Stormlords, and drinking enough to bring a drought to the Rainwood.

Robert had not been shy with the wineskin he carried with him today, but was still oddly subdued among this party of northerners. Robb wondered if that related to the presence of the man to his left - Robert's closest friend from his youth, Eddard Stark.

Riding several lengths behind the trio of lords were Robb and Prince Jon, the lone Targaryen in the company."Few words have passed between uncle Ned and Lord Robert," said Robb, raising an eyebrow to Jon. The hunt had been a quiet affair thus far, and the group of twenty ambled along, enjoying the reprieve from the clamor of the city.

"I know," said Jon, his cool grey eyes following Robb's gaze. "Maybe time can't heal every wound."

Neither of them needed to elaborate. While it never became commonly known throughout the realm, it was no secret among the Starks that Robert had once desired the hand of Jon's mother Lyanna. He had intended to propose a betrothal at the Tourney of Harrenhal, urged on by Ned, who wanted nothing more than to see his best friend and beloved sister wed.

But fate intervened when Lyanna caught Prince Rhaegar's eye, and Robert's future with the wild northern beauty evaporated before his eyes.

"Robert can't blame uncle Ned for that," said Robb. "He couldn't have foreseen what happened between your parents, and a brother cannot command his sister to fall in love."

Jon turned to Robb with a twinkle in his eye. "Too bad for you, otherwise I could help your case with Vaena."

"Ha!" laughed Robb, shoving his cousin playfully. "I'll win her over yet."

Robb thought back to his attempt to impress Jon's sister at the previous night's feast. He'd purposely sat down next to Lyanna's only daughter, planning to regale her with accounts of his triumphs and travails at the lists. The silver-haired princess had been a sight to behold, all soft curves and ivory skin under her lavendar gown. But when Robb opened his mouth, her striking grey eyes had fixed on him appraisingly, and his confidence deserted him.

In a panic, he'd shoved a bite of honeyed chicken into his open mouth, then continued to stuff his face as words continued to fail him. "The Hungry Wolf," Vaena had called him with a chuckle before she stood to accept a dance with young Tyman Lannister.

"What about you Jon?" asked Robb, changing the subject. "What lucky maiden will be granting you their favor before tomorrow's melee? Princess Arianne seems to like you well enough."

"The favor of the gods is enough for me," said Jon, changing it right back. "You already proved yourself in the lists, as did Aegon. My chance comes on the morrow."

"Something tells me that you will make the most of it," said Robb. The cousins had trained side by side under Ser Rodrik Cassel during Jon's five year wardship at Winterfell. Robb had seen Jon work in the training yard in recent days, and knew that the quiet prince was still not shy with a sword in his hand.

"Tell me Jon," Robb said as they paused to let their horses drink from a passing stream. "I know you were born here, but you felt like a true northman by the time you left us. Was it strange for you, returning to the capital?"

Jon sighed. "It wasn't easy leaving Winterfell. I became a man there. The Starks are my family, just as much as the Targaryens."

"Perhaps more," laughed Robb. "Seeing how your siblings look, I have to wonder if you're even related."

Jon chuckled as well. "There are times I wish I was wasn't. But your father, Ser Rodrik, uncle Eddard - they showed me how to be a man, to act with honor. I've tried to carry that south with me."

"Seems like too much honor could get you in trouble in a place like King's Landing," said Robb with a smirk. All jests aside, he was pleased to hear that Jon still treasured his time in the north.

"You're right on that count," said Jon with a grin. "Honor is still valued here, but it's best when paired with a quick swordhand." 

The cousins were interrupted by raucous shouting as two other lads came galloping past, laughing merrily atop their steeds. "Stay behind me, southron!" shouted Damon Stark to the dark-haired young man who rode beside him. "Stags are meant to be _hunted_ , not hunters." Damon had carried himself with more confidence since his his betrothal to Myranda Royce was announced a few days prior. _Enjoy yourself while you can Dame_ , thought Robb. _Your carefree days are numbered._

Edric Baratheon gave a bellowing laugh reminiscent of his father, a comparison that was furthered by his looks. Tall and strapping, with coal-colored hair and blue eyes, he looked every bit the heir to Storm's End. "You should hang back yourself, Stark," he called as he pulled ahead of Damon. "I fear you might mistake the boar for one of your northern women!"

The two lordlings had formed a fast friendship during the course of the hunt. They now charged ahead to the front of the group as their fathers looked on. "Do they remind you of anyone?" Ned said, turning to the Baratheon lord at his side.

Robert declined to return his gaze. "No," he said, his face grim. Robb felt his heart sink as Ned lowered his eyes to the ground. After a few moments of silence, Robert at last turned his head to his former best friend. "They're too good looking."

A slow smile crept onto the Stormlord's face, one matched by Ned as well. Their grins escalated into laughter, Robert reaching out to punch Ned in the arm as both men spurred their horses forward to keep up with their rowdy sons.

Watching from behind, Robb and Jon shared grins of their own before rushing to keep up. They heard shouts of excitement coming from a clearing ahead, emerging to see that the party's leaders had at last located their quarry. The boar was large and fierce, its loud sorts betraying its rage at being cornered. Edric Baratheon had spotted the beast first, and was first to leap from his mount and give thrust with his spear. His spearpoint lodged in the animal's hide, but a wild jerk from the creature was enough to snap Edric's shaft before he could deliver a fatal strike.

"Step aside, lad," bellowed Robert, now also on foot and swaggering toward the boar. "It's time for the boys to see how the real men hunt, eh Ned?"

The animal was wounded but still very much a threat, and as Robert approached his movements were clearly affected by the wine he'd been swigging all afternoon. He raised his burly arm in preparation for the killing strike, but before it could land the boar suddenly charged. Robert's spear glanced off its flank, and the rabid beast slammed into him with force, throwing him to the ground. Cries of alarm rose from the surrounding hunters, but they were too far from Robert to act. The drunken lord appeared dazed as he lay beneath the boar, the animal raising its head with the intent of driving its cruel, curved tusks down into his unprotected middle.

The onlookers seemed frozen in place as the boar swung its head down in a fierce arc. But before the blow could land another spear flew, seemingly thrown by the gods themselves, and buried itself in the animal's neck. The beast toppled onto its side, blood pouring from the spear wound as it took its final breaths.

Robert seemed to be in a state of shock, rising up slowly to his elbows and turning to identify his savior. There, sweat beading on his brow and concern written over his features, stood Lord Eddard Stark.

"Bloody hell, Ned!" said Robert, as Robb and the rest of the party sighed with relief. "Took you long enough!" Nervous laughter arose from the group as Ned helped Robert to his feet, a broad smile breaking across the face of the normally somber Stark. A crisis was averted, and twenty years of ice had at last begun to thaw.

* * *

  
Later that evening, Robb walked with his northern mates in the direction of their chambers after the feast. He'd held himself to only two mugs of ale this night, hoping wanting to be in peak form for tomorrow's melee. He was laughing at Benfred Tallhart's tale of a drunken encounter with Beth Cassell behind the Red Keep's stables when a familiar voice came from the other end of the hall.

"My lord, may we speak for a moment?" Robb turned his head to behold Fair Walda Frey. Robb had been avoiding the girl lately, truth be told. He'd enjoyed her attentions at Harrenhal, but she'd grown rather too fond of his company of late - especially with so many other pretty girls afoot that were worthy of his notice.

"Lady Walda," said Robb, doing his best to hide his annoyance and ignore his friends' snickers. "Of course we can. Carry on, boys."

He took in Walda's appearance by the light of the flickering candles. She seemed to be dressed for a special occasion, her fair locks braided across her forehead and cascading down past the shoulders of her decadent gown, its pale blue evoking the house of her mother's husband. Walda was attractive as always, but her skin looked paler than normal in the flickering light, and her gaze was determined and hard.

"Have you been avoiding me?" she asked. _Straight to the point, it seems_ , thought Robb.

"Of course not," he replied, averting her eyes. "These have been busy days. I'm expected to build friendships with other houses for when I become lord one day. Not to mention the jousts, the hunt-"

"I've missed my moon blood, Robb," Walda interrupted. Robb felt his knees suddenly go weak, a mix of confusion and fear brewing in his gut.

"What-", he stammered, trying to gather his senses. "Are you... can you be sure?"

"It's been three weeks. And I am starting to feel a sickness in the mornings. I haven't seen a maester yet, but I know what they'll say."

Robb's heart was hammering in his chest. "But we only laid together twice..." He was struggling to reckon with his own foolishness. He wasn't honorable enough to resist a comely maid, but too honorable to insist she take moon tea. _Robb Stark, you fucking idiot._

"What are you implying? That I have lain with someone else?" asked Walda, her voice rising into a harsh whisper. "I am carrying a child, Robb. _Your_ child."

Hearing her say the words made the situation crystallize in Robb's mind. This was very, very serious, and he had no idea what to do. "I must speak with my father and mother," he said, trying to sound calmer than he felt. "They've been forming plans for me, I do not know-"

" _Listen_ to me," Walda interrupted again, sounding colder than Robb would've thought possible. "My stepfather is Hand of the King and Lord Paramount of the Vale. If he or my brother Harrold were to learn of this situation, it would not be a boon for House Stark. Be sure to remind your noble parents of _that_."

* * *

  
"By the gods, Robb." Brandon Stark shook his head in disbelief. He and Lady Catelyn had been in a jovial mood when Robb found them in their chambers, but their son's news put a quick end to that. "You have your mother's looks, but you got your lack of sense from me."

"I'm sorry, father," Robb said quietly. "I acted like a fool."

"I told you, Robb," said Lady Catelyn. "I _warned_ you." He could scarcely meet his mother's disappointed gaze. She was pacing near the window while Brandon sat at the table, his hand gripping a goblet of wine but never raising it to his lips.

"A bloody _Frey_ , of all things," said Brandon. Robb knew neither of his parents had any great respect for Lord Walder of the Twins and his massive brood.

"She's a Frey, yes, but a Hardyng as well," said Catelyn, now wringing her hands in thought. "Raised by Jon Arryn, and half sister to his son and heir. It's not a match that we considered, but I suppose we could do worse."

"She doesn't look like a Frey, if I have the right girl in mind - and that's a good thing," said Brandon, earning a raised eyebrow from his wife.

"What sort of girl is this Walda?" Brandon continued, leaning toward Robb and questioning him intently. "How certain are you that this babe will be yours?"

Robb paused, choosing his words carefully. "I laid with her, father. More than once. I have heard no tales of her being with any other. I... I have no cause to doubt her."

"She's a well-made girl," said Catelyn thoughtfully. "Slender, but wide of hip if I remember right." Robb nodded, blushing slightly. He knew Walda's dimensions well.

"And she's already proven to be fertile," his mother continued. She looked to Robb, then to her husband, who nodded in resignation. Catelyn sighed. "We're disappointed, Robb. We raised you better, and this is not what we'd planned for you. But we are Starks, and we will act with honor in this."

"A Frey in the family," said Brandon, shaking his head once more before at last taking a much-needed gulp of red. "We'll send a raven to the Twins, and I'll speak with Jon Arryn on the morrow."

* * *

  
Robb was in a state of inner turmoil as he approached the door to Walda's chambers in the Tower of the Hand. Two hours ago his biggest worry had been tomorrow's melee, and now words like _husband, father,_ and _fool_ swirled through his head. His parents dealt with the situation as well as he could've hoped, but Walda was not exactly enamored of him when they'd spoken last.

The Frey girl eyed him warily as she opened the door, silently allowing him into her chamber and closing it behind him. Robb determined that there was nothing to be gained by keeping her in suspense.

"I've told my parents, and they agree that we must be discrete. My father will speak with the Lord Hand in the morning. He'll express his desire to form closer ties with Houses Arryn and Frey. If Lord Jon is willing... we are to be betrothed."

Robb watched carefully for Walda's reaction, and noted the corners of her mouth tugging slightly upward at those last words. "But what of the wedding?" she asked, her tone still measured. "It would need to be soon, before my belly begins to swell."

"We'll be wed right after the tourney's end, in the godswood of the Red Keep," Robb replied. "To 'spare our families another journey so soon after this one'."

At that detail, the older girl seemed to transform - her posture went from rigid to warm, her mouth breaking into a grin that showed her small, white teeth. "Oh, Robb," she said, walking quickly toward him and taking him in her arms. "This was all I've wanted. To be your lady wife."

Robb was taken aback by the sheer distance her mood had traveled in mere moments, but also relieved to be spared from the cold fury she'd so recently aimed at him. "I think you will do well in the north," he managed as she embraced him.

"Walda Stark," she said, laughing happily as she caressed his shoulders. "Lady of Winterfell. It sounds good, doesn't it?" Her pale blue eyes sparkled as she took Robb's hand and lowered it to her stomach. "Our daughters will be beautiful. And our sons will rule the North."

 _She seems to have thought this through_ , thought Robb wryly, knowing better than to voice those words. "Our own litter of wolves," he said instead.

Walda seemed pleased with that, biting her lip playfully as she began leading him toward the bed. "Come Robb," she said, giving him the same look that had lead him astray at Harrenhal. "Let us practice making more of them."

Robb hesitated for a moment before shaking his head and following dutifully behind her. _I've made my bed,_ he thought with chagrin. _Now_ _I might as well lie in it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Robb is the father - no paternity drama here. Just naive Robb getting himself in hot water with the ladies as he tends to do. 
> 
> It's been a while, so as a refresher: Jon Arryn was never wed to Lysa, marrying the widowed Deana Hardyng instead. Harry the Heir is their son, and Fair Walda is his half-sister. I don't really have a strong rationale for this, just wanted to give the Arryns a different flavor.
> 
> Oh, and Robert's son is an older, legitimate version of Edric Storm. In canon his mother is a Florent, whereas here she's a Tyrell.


	9. Sansa, Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talk, then action.

**Sansa**

Sansa felt a coil of nerves spring loose in her stomach at the words of the messenger. "Queen Lyanna wishes to see me?" she repeated.

"Yes, my lady," the man replied from the doorway to her chamber, only the slightest hint of impatience in his voice. "You and your cousin are invited to lunch with the queen and princess in their solar."

Sansa knew it was silly to be so intimidated by her aunt. Lyanna had been nothing but warm and welcoming during her weeks in the capital. But they had only exchanged a few words in passing, never spending time in an intimate setting. Now it seemed that was about to change.

Sansa gathered herself and stepped over to the mirror, running a brush through her thick auburn locks and smoothing the teal gown she wore - luckily, it happened to be one of her best. After a few moments, an "Ahem" from the attendant signaled that it was time to be on her way.

As they walked through the hallways of the keep toward Arya's rooms, Sansa distracted herself by reflecting on the previous day's events. One event in particular - her brief encounter with Prince Aegon.

She'd heard whispers about Jon's brother of course, and not all of them good. But somehow those things seemed less important when his amethyst eyes stared into hers, his silvery hair catching the orange glow of the evening sun. Aegon certainly looked gallant in winning the joust, tall and strapping in his handsome armor - and he'd looked even better underneath it.

Sansa shook her head, attempting to dislodge the image of the handsome prince smiling at her in the gardens. _You're not a foolish girl anymore. He's not for you, so there's no sense in daydreaming._

Her thoughts were interrupted as they reached the rooms assigned to the family of Uncle Ned. Her cousin soon emerged, clad in a black gown lined with white fur. She looked surprisingly presentable - for Arya, anyway. "Hello Sansa," said Arya, eyeing her with a sigh. "Let me guess - you're nervous."

"Is it that obvious?" asked Sansa in dismay. The girls began to follow queen's man in the direction of Maegor's Holdfast.

"I don't know why you would be," said Arya. "She's our blood, a northerner just like us. A fancy title doesn't change that."

Sansa sighed. It was rare that she thought of Arya as a source of wisdom, but in this she supposed her cousin was right. They walked outside through one of the castle's many courtyards. The brisk winds of autumn were only just now reaching these southern lands, and Sansa found herself wishing she'd brought her cloak.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, turning the focus to her cousin. "Have you come to terms with your betrothal, now that you've spent some time with him?" It was no secret that Arya was far from thrilled when told she was to marry the young heir to Lord Whent of Harrenhal.

Arya snorted. "Well, he accidentally let out a belch when I danced with him last night," she said, a slight grin creasing her face. "I may learn to like him yet."

Sansa giggled at that. "Any idea who _you'll_ be sold off to yet?" asked Arya, romantic as ever.

"Not a even a hint," sighed Sansa. She thought back to the feast the prior evening. Toward the end of the night, she'd seen that arse Harrold Arryn slipping away with Amerei Lannister, Lord Tywin's buxom young daughter. _As long as it's not him._

After entering the holdfast, the girls followed their escort through a dozen more twists and turns before ascending the grand stairway that lead to the royal chambers. _She's just your aunt,_  Sansa reminded herself as Ser Jonothor Darry of the Kingsguard stepped aside to allow their entrance.

"Sansa! Arya!" Once her eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight filtering through the massive windows of the King's solar, Sansa's gaze found two women striding up to meet them. Lyanna looked as northern as they come with her grey eyes and long dark hair  - Sansa always thought she resembled Arya in some ways. Lyanna wore a golden dragon necklace over a red gown crossed with splendid black lace, testaments to what she was now - a Targaryen queen.

"I'm so glad that you took me up on my invitation. We Stark girls need time to get acquainted without all of the men mucking things up," Lyanna said with a wink. At her side was a silver-haired beauty, hard to recognize as Lyanna's daughter until one noticed the steel grey eyes they shared.

Sansa dipped into a curtsy, Arya reluctantly following suit. "The pleasure is ours, your grace. You look magnificent - as do you, princess," she said, turning to Vaena.

"Please, call me cousin," Vaena with a smile, stepping forward to take Sansa and Arya in hand. "Are you ladies hungry?"

"Absolutely," said Arya, eliciting a glare from Sansa. _Do they not teach manners at Moat Cailin?_

 

The four of them were seated at the center table as servants began flitting back at forth, too many to count. Their goblets were quickly filled with Arbor gold, and plate after plate of sumptuous fare soon sat before them. It seemed that royalty did live differently after all - this was a far cry from typical mid-day meal at Winterfell.

"Well," said Lyanna once the servants completed their duties and the four women began to eat. "Now that you've been here for almost a fortnight, I demand to know - what are your impressions of life in the capital?"

"It's not as bad as I thought," said Arya through a mouthful of food. "Though the smell does take some getting used to." Sansa shot her glare, but Lyanna and Vaena only laughed.

"I felt the same when I first came here," said Lyanna, her eyes twinkling. "I longed to return to the north, to spending my days riding through the wolfswood without a care in the world."

Sansa was surprised to find herself nodding at the queen's words. Growing up in Winterfell, she'd longed for the south that her mother told her of, full of feasts and tourneys, beautiful ladies and chivalrous knights. But now that she'd seen it, she had a new appreciation for the home she'd left behind.

"How long did it take?" she asked Lyanna, surprising herself with her frankness. "For you to feel at home, here in King's Landing?"

"It took a long time," said her aunt, looking as if she were suddenly beset by memories. "This was a very different place when I came here. Rhaegar had just rebelled against his father, and it nearly tore the realm apart. The city was half in ruins, charred by wildfire, and the common people had lost what little trust they ever had in the Iron Throne."

Sansa had almost forgotten the circumstances surrounding Lyanna's ascension to the throne. "I can't imagine, becoming Queen in such a difficult time. How... how did you do it? Rebuild, I mean."

"We relied on each other, Rhaegar and I. In the love we shared, and in the children we made." She squeezed Vaena's hand, the princess returning her mother's smile. "We northern girls are tough, are we not?" she continued. "I have no doubt that you all will rise to your own challenges, and build families with strong foundations just as we did."

The girls grew quiet, the queen's words serving as a reminder that soon they'd be embarking on their own new journeys, rife with unkowns.

"Enough of this serious talk," said Vaena, ending the silence. "I want to hear more about Jon's time at Winterfell. Is it true that the day he arrived he slipped and fell in some mud in front of half the castle?"

"Halfway true," said Arya with a grin, ignoring Sansa's kick under the table. "It was horse dung."

 

* * *

 

After the servants finished clearing the table, the girls bid farewell to Lyanna and made their away out of the chamber, the afternoon's melee their next destination. Arya and Vaena walked ahead, trading unflattering stories about Jon, while Sansa trailed behind them lost in thought. Her reverie was broken by an expected greeting from the opposite end of the hallway, outside the King's chambers. "Sansa Stark, is it?"

She turned to behold an elderly man clad in long black robes. He was bald, stooped and wrinkled, his eyes covered in a milky glaze as he hobbled in in her direction. Her cousins continued walking ahead, oblivious. "Y-yes, hello my lord. Er, my Prince, I believe."

The old man let out a cackle. "A lord, I have never been, but yes it's true, I was prince once. Now, just a humble maester and brother of the Night's Watch."

Sansa had never met Aemon Targaryen, but the old man had been subject to much conjecture over the course of the tourney. It was said he was aged a hundred years or more, forgotten by the realm while serving for many decades at the Wall - until Rhaegar summoned him here to the tourney, for reasons known only to the king himself.

"It is good to meet you, Maester Aemon," said Sansa, remembering her courtesies. "I was raised to have great respect for men of the Night's Watch."

She'd heard that Aemon was blind as a bat, but his eyes seemed to look directly into hers as he approached. _And how had he possibly known who she was?_

"The Starks have always friends to the Watch." said Aemon, smiling to reveal a mouth nearly devoid of teeth. "And in recent years, friends to the Targaryens as well."

"We've been honored to serve the throne," said Sansa, hoping she sounded wise. "The north and south are both stronger when we act together."

"Indeed, young lady," replied the maester. "The strength of ice and fire."

As Sansa puzzled over his words, Aemon took her hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Thank you for sparing a moment for an old man, Lady Sansa. I suspect that our paths may cross again."

"I hope they do," said Sansa, wondering if she meant it, and the maester who was once a prince continued on his way.

 

**Jon**

  
The autumn wind whipped across Jon's face, but the rest of him was warm, protected by the black armor gifted by father upon his return from Winterfell. Jon tried to still his pounding heart as he took in his surroundings. It was a strange thing, a melee. Forty men arrayed across a field, each prepared to fight for only himself. A free-for-all in the truest sense - alliances would form in the course of the battle, but they would be momentary, for when all was over only one man would be the victor.

Jon scanned the field, searching for familiar faces. Robb was positioned nearby - the cousins locked eyes and exchanged nervous grins. At the western edge stood Aegon, his own suit of black steel gleaming in the afternoon sun. Jon knew that his brother could handle a sword as well as any man in their midst, but still he spared a quick prayer that Aegon wouldn't do anything foolish. Those thoughts were amplified by the presence of a hulking figure on the opposite side of the arena - that of the Mountain, Ser Gregor Clegane. A chill ran down Jon's spine as he saw the giant's gaze fix upon his brother, but he was quickly distracted by the herald's cry.

"Warriors, make ready! This melee, held in the view of his grace, King on the Iron Throne and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Rhaegar Targaryen, will now commence. Any fighter who fails to relent when their opponent yields will be subject to the King's mercy."

Jon turned his eyes to the pavilion where his father sat, surrounded by the the royal family and a host of other lords and ladies. He knew that Rhaeagar deemed melees to be a dangerous spectacle, one too often marred by dismemberment or even death of the combatants. But it was a necessary evil, one that no great tourney could end without. Rhaegar returned Jon's gaze and gave him a curt nod.

Jon only just had time to return it before the herald's horn sounded - and suddenly chaos reigned. Charging from his left came the heir to House Serry, a red rose sigil decorating his shield and live steel in his hand. Jon reacted quickly, dodging the young knight's thrust before lunging with one of his own. Serry's eyes went wide at the speed of Jon's blade, but he was fast as well, and the two soon settled into a dance to the familiar song of steel.

Slash, parry, parry, slash - Jon felt his worries melt away as his every fiber focused on his opponent. When a foe was skilled enough to survive his initial barrage, Jon knew that patience was his ally. One mistake was all he needed. Serry was using his height and reach as his edge - but any advantage can be flipped. His opponent put too much force into a thrust that met nothing but air, Jon ducking beneath it before slamming his forearm into the knight's right shoulder. In instant, Serry's sword was on the ground, and Jon's was at his throat. "I yield," his opponent muttered, and the fight was at an end.

All around them, the air was filled with clashes and clangs, shouts and thuds as men battled for glory and treasure. Jon spared a moment to catch a breath and survey the scene. His bout had lasted longer than most, and the remaining combatants now numbered less than twenty. To his right, Robb was trading blows with Harrold Arryn, fighting as if he were trying to prove a point. Jon turned to see Damon lose his footing against Garlan Tyrell, the heir to Highgarden kicking his cousin's sword aside.

Then a new foe stepped into Jon's path. Ser Vardis Egen was the captain of Jon Arryn's guard, but the man already looked winded from his prior bouts. Jon spun away from the Valeman's arcing blade, blocking his second thrust before lashing with one of his own. It was a matter of moments before Jon had Egen off-balance, disarming him with a blow from his shield to the older man's sword hand.

The field was thinning now, Jon saw, turning to see Robb stepping over his own vanquished Valeman, Harry the Heir laying sprawled and fuming in the dirt. To Jon's left, young Edric Baratheon looked the very image of his father, right down to his weapon of choice. His warhammer smashed through the shield of Garlan Tyrell, who did his best to look gallant from the ground as he waved a hand to in surrender.

A masterful duel was taking place on the far end of the field, the red priest Thoros of Myr holding off the Mountain with his fiery blade. Jon, Robb, and Edric were now unoccupied, with three other young combatants moving their way. Jon was unsurprised to see Aegon among their ranks, the crown prince flashing a cocky grin as he advanced on the Baratheon. For his part, Robb was quickly engaged by Tyman Lannister, the golden-haired youth having inherited his father Jaime's speed and skill with a blade.

And for Jon, a third opponent awaited. Qoren Martell stood in his path, the son Prince Oberyn and his wife Lady Taena of Myr. Jon had noticed a number of glares directed his way from the young Dornishman in recent days, usually when he was speaking to Princess Arrianne. The two were cousins, and it was said that they were all but betrothed. The olive-skinned youth seemed intent on proving himself worthy to be called the Young Viper, with a double-sided spear in hand and a sunburst across his chest.  
  
Jon's experience with spear combat was limited. Potential tactics raced through his mind, but before he could form a strategy his foe lashed out with a lightning-quick strike. Jon raised his shield just in time, Martell switching hands with his spear as he spun into a second strike aimed at his back. Jon let his reflexes take over, his sword flashing behind his head to deflect the blow before darting forward to launch an offensive of his own.

He quickly discovered the the spear doubled as a defensive force, Qoren spinning it skillfully from one hand to the other to block Jon's strikes. The Dornishman reopened some space between them before catching Jon in the leg with a low sweeping blow.

"Why are you on the ground, my prince?" Qoren asked, smirking as Jon rose to one knee. "Tired already?" It wasn't easy to raise Jon's temper, but as his stricken leg throbbed he felt his blood slowly begin to boil. As he climbed to his feet, Qoren went launched a finishing strike - but this time Jon was ready. He caught the point of the spear with the edge of his shield, driving it to the ground before snapping the shaft with his foot.

"You have a strange way of fighting in Dorne," he said, sensing that his opponent's anger was more easily provoked. "But what happens when your sticks get broken?"

Qoren hid his rage behind a grin, unsheathing a short blade Jon hadn't noticed at his side. With the dagger in one hand and his shortened spear in the other, the Dornishman hurled himself back into the fray.

Now they were trading blows at a ferocious pace, Jon's sword leaping to confront Qoren's spear while his shield fended off the second blade. Jon felt himself growing wearier with each passing second. He allowed his foe to press him closer and closer, their eyes only inches apart as their blades locked - until Jon's knee slammed up into his opponent's gut. _Robb taught me that one_ , he thought as the Dornishman doubled over. _And_ _I know from experience, it doesn't feel good._

Jon kicked kicked Qoren's spear free from his grip before slamming his shield into his other hand, dislodging the dagger. He didn't bother asking the lad to yield - the fight had been a long one, and Jon needed to see who was still standing.

As he took in gulps of air, Jon's eyes searched frantically for the remaining combatants. Aegon was thirty paces away, dueling with Tyman Lannister. Jon watched as his brother knocked the young lion's sword from his hand to secure the victory.

But to Aegon's rear, a massive shadow suddenly loomed. Jon felt his heart rise to his throat as Gregor Clegane advanced on the crown prince, who was facing the opposite way. "Aegon!" Jon shouted in warning, sprinting toward his brother as the Mountain's sword rose over his head. Aegon spun around just in time, raising his blade to absorb a massive blow from Clegane. The Mountain's strength with his greatsword proved insurmountable, his second strike forceful enough send Aegon's blade spinning to the ground.

The fight should have been over, but rather than turn to face Jon, Clegane raised his sword yet again above the unarmed prince. Gasps of horror rose from the crowd - but Jon heard only his own pounding footsteps, and the blood rushing through his ears as he willed himself forward with a speed he didn't know he head. Jon leaped into the air as the Mountain's sword arced down for a killing strike, his own blade slicing down with the full force of gravity behind it. Jon found his mark just above the giant's gauntlet, slicing through meat and bone as he separated the Mountain's massive wrist from his forearm.

A bellow of pain and rage filled the air as the Mountain's severed hand thumped the dirt at Aegon's side, his fingers still gripping the greatsword. A deathly silence fell over the crowd as the wounded monster dropped to a knee, turning to look upon his assailant. Jon ripped the massive helmet from Ser Gregor's head - even on his knees, the brute was still at eye level. Jon used every ounce of his remaining strength to smash the hilt of his sword into the Mountain's forehead, sending his unconscious body crashing to the ground.

Jon turned to his dazed brother, who for the first time in his life was at a loss for words. Aegon managed a grateful nod, which Jon returned. His gaze then turned to the pavilion for the first time since the melee began. King Rhaegar stood rigid and still, his skin white as a sheet. At his side, Rhaenys still gripped her father's arm in terror, but her eyes bored straight into Jon's. Time seemed to stop, everything fading away except his older sister, looking at Jon in a way she never had before.

Everyone seemed to breath again all at once. Men were shouting, women wailing, gold cloaks swarming forth to shackle the Mountain and drag him away. Rhaenys came running onto the field, her long black hair streaming behind her as she sprinted right to Jon - and then past him. Straight to her true brother - to Aegon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, the royal betrothals will be announced - and shit will hit the fan.


	10. Daenerys, Cersei

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The die is cast

**Daenerys**

Dany's time in King's Landing could only be described with one word: exhausting. It wasn't just the constant posturing, the expectation that she should prattle on with the daughters of every grasping lord that sought favor with House Targaryen - though that had certainly gotten old quickly. No, it was the growing sense that she was nothing but a piece of meat being dangled for men's attention.

Her disgust was never stronger than at the prior night's feast, when that drunken lech Robert Baratheon asked her to join her for a song, only to let his meaty palm slide down onto her behind as they danced. The oaf had only laughed as she'd angrily swatted him away. For him, and likely all men, the world was one giant arse just waiting to be grabbed.

Now, as she climbed the staircase leading to the King's solar, it was a deep sense of dread that gripped her. She knew as soon as she received the summons, announcing that the royal family would be gathering at the King's behest. The tourney was winding down, and with the melee now completed it was time for the main event. The betrothals were to be announced. In the coming hour, Dany would at last be told where she'd be spending the rest of her life - and with whom.

She might have been excited if she were more romantic, more naive. But Daenarys was no fool - she knew that whatever marriage Rhaegar arranged for her would be purely for political gain, not out of any thought for her happiness. Or love - something she wasn't sure she even believed in. Her mother and father certainly hadn't shared any. Hoster Tully had treated Rhaella with affection, but Dany thought it mostly due to the way his stature was bolstered by a marriage to the former queen.

And then there was Rhaegar and Lyanna. She had to admit their marriage was a strong one, but how could any woman truly love a man who was so emotionless, so removed? Dany remember a different Rhaegar when she was little. He was quiet then, but warm as well, always with a twinkle in his eye. But the burden of the crown had weighed heavily during his reign, and the solemn king bore little resemblance to the brother she remembered.

No, Daenerys did not have any real hope for love, so why should the prospect of betrothal give her any excitement? If she were to be matched with Aegon, it might be different. She could not deny the appeal of becoming queen, of ruling over Westeros and shaping the kingdom however she thought best. But Viserys had disabused her of any hope in that possibility long ago, convinced that Rhaegar would not marry his heir to another Targaryen. Dany rarely gave much weight to her brother's theories, but in this she thought him right.

Dany held her head high as she strode into the solar, taking in the scene around her. The king and queen were seated at the center of the airy chamber, and Dany coolly acknowledged a nod of greeting from Rhaegar and a small smile from Lyanna.

To their right sat Aegon and Rhaenys, together as always. Rhaenys' usual confident bearing was replaced by one of tension - she knew the stakes underlying this meeting.

At her side, Aegon still bore the tentative expression he'd worn since his close brush with death in the melee two days prior. The Mountain was now securely shackled in the black cells, but his attack had clearly shaken the normally cocksure prince.

Rhaegar cleared his throat. "Daenerys, be seated. As you've likely guessed, we have important matters to discuss." The king gestured to his left, where his remaining two children sat. Vaena offered Dany a nervous smile. Sitting next to her, Jon appeared to be unchanged by his new status as hero of the melee. His gray Stark eyes briefly met hers before quickly looking away.

As Dany seated herself next to Jon, their attention turned to the room's entrance, where two older figures now stood. The dowager queen Rhaella, unbent by her years, looked elegant in a long scarlet gown, but Dany sensed the anxiety in her features. She wondered if mother already knew what her son was about to announce.

Rhaella was escorting an ancient man clad in black robes - their mysterious great uncle Aemon of the Night's Watch. The pair made their way across the solar, Rhaella taking a seat to her son's left after guiding the blind maester to a chair nearby.

After a moment's tense silence, the king now spoke again. "Welcome mother, uncle. With everyone present, we can now proceed."

 _But this is not everyone_ , thought Dany. "What about our brothers, Rhaegar?" she asked, already feeling defiant in the face of what was to come. "Are Viserys and Torean not worthy to hear these tidings directly from your mouth?"

Rhaegar turned his gaze upon her, his cold violet eyes probing hers. "Torean is our brother, yes, but he is also a Tully. With Lord Hoster unwell, he is free to make his own decisions regarding his future - though I have given him my advice." He looked to Rhaella, who nodded. "And Viserys has proven that he has no desire to heed my council. He has already wed against my wishes, and thus he has no place in this room."

Dany recalled Viserys' request on Dragonstone, that she keep him informed of any whispers she heard from the rest of royal family. In truth, she'd never had the chance to pass him any information, for she herself hadn't been privy to it either.

"Now," said Rhaegar, everyone's attention shifting back to the king. "I trust all of you know why we are gathered here. I called this tourney to bring together all of the great families in our realm after many years apart. But the other purpose was to evaluate potential matches for our family. All of you have come of age, and it is time for young dragons to spread their wings. You will soon go forth into the realm to build families of your own, and to strengthen the cause of House Targaryen."

The five younger members of the family sat up straighter in their seats. The moment they'd anticipated for so long seemed at last to have arrived.

"We have not been as close to some houses as we should, due to events that transpired long ago," the king continued. "One example of this is our cousins of House Baratheon. Lord Robert sought a betrothal twenty years ago to a woman that was denied to him." Dany shot quick glance at Lyanna. "That perceived insult will now be set right, with a marriage of his son to her daughter. Vaena, you will wed Edric Baratheon, and one day serve as Lady of Storm's End."

Dany turned to gauge the reaction of her niece. Despite her northern blood, Vaena seemed to enjoy life at court, and had once confided to Dany that her greatest fear was being sent off to some backwater for the rest of her life. But the Baratheons were known to keep a lively court, and Storm's End was only a week's ride from King's Landing. "Thank you, father," said Vaena, blushing slightly as Jon reached over to squeeze his sister's hand.

"Beyond the mending of old wounds," Rhaegar continued, "we must also reward those who have served us loyally." Dany was not sure where this was leading, but her heart began to pound nonetheless. "Jon Arryn stood by my side in the war against my father, and has been steadfast and true as my hand these many years. Daenerys," he said, turning to her once more. "You will now serve as the link that binds Arryn and Targaryen for generations to come. You will be wed to Jon's heir, Ser Harrold, and at his side you will one day rule the Vale."

The room began to spin around her, bile rising in her throat. She had expected to feel nothing but apathy in this moment, but instead she was consumed with disgust. "Daenerys," her mother started, concern in her tone - but Dany would not hear it.

"You would wed me to an arrogant imbecile who cannot even keep his cook in his breeches? Is that how little you care for me, _brother_?" Dany spat out that last word as if it were laced with venom. She'd heard the rumors about Harrold Arryn, that he'd already fathered at least one bastard in the Vale. He was handsome enough, tall and strapping with a head of fair locks - but in their brief interactions she'd seen very little of value beneath that comely exterior.

"On the contrary," said Rhaegar. "It shows how much faith I have in you. You have become a strong and capable young woman, Dany. I have every confidence that you will help shape an immature lad into a lord fit to rule. The people of the Vale will thank me one day for sending the Lady that lead them to such prosperity."

His words should have been flattering, but instead they rang hollow. _The Vale._ Daenerys knew little of those mountainous lands, besides that they were isolated, barren, and cold. It was just as she'd feared - she'd be shipped away, a pawn in her brother's games, wed to man she would not love. She wanted to scream, to rage, to tell Rhaegar to save his false compliments for someone foolish enough to believe them. But she knew it would be to no avail, and thus she fell silent.

"Before I can continue, we must discuss the matter for which I called Uncle Aemon to King's Landing." Eyes widened throughout the room. _What role could the old maester possibly have in this?_

Aemon Targaryen rose to his feet, walking slowly forward to stand beside the king. "It is a prophecy that lead King Rhaegar to seek my council," the old man began. "One that is found in ancient texts from Westeros, Essos, and beyond. Though the languages are different, there are certain elements that are always the same."

Dany and the others were all sharing looks of confusion now. They knew that Rhaegar had more than a passing interest in strange, dust-covered tomes on archaic subjects of all kinds. But to speak of some ancient myth, in a moment like this?

"An evil force will rise that will threaten the very existence of man," continued the maester. "And great heroes will emerge to lead us to victory over this threat."

"What kind of evil, uncle?" asked Aegon, seemingly intrigued.

"That, we do not know," replied the maester. "But the prophecy does speak of those who will defeat it. They will be princes... and dragons."

"The dragons have been dead for centuries," said Rhaenys, clearly growing impatient with this charade.

"Indeed," replied Aemon. "But we believe princes and dragons will be one in the same. In short, they will be Targaryens."

Now Rhaegar stood as well. "The dragon must have three heads, so the prophecy says. Each forged from the union of ice and fire." He looked to Lyanna then, his queen returning his gaze, her expression unreadable.

"Fire and ice," said Vaena, sounding lost in thought. "Do you mean... Targaryen and Stark?"

"Indeed," said Rhaegar. "Both houses bear ancient, powerful bloodlines, never before merged. Until myself and your mother, that is."

"What are you saying, father?" said Rhaenys, her tone mixing anger and disbelief. "That Jon and Vaena are the chosen ones, destined to save the world?"

"No, daughter," Rhaegar replied. "All of you will have your parts to play." He turned to look out at the sun setting over Blackwater Bay, falling silent for a painfully long moment before continuing.  
"I did not know how to interpret the prophecy, which is why I called Aemon here. But together, we believe we have discerned its meaning. Three heads, each of ice and fire. We believe Lyanna and myself represents the first. Aegon, my eldest son and heir, you are part of the second."

Aegon nodded uncertainly. The moment of revelation was upon them.

"Dragonfire runs through your blood, Aegon, that is certain. And that must be offset by a bride of forged from ice. Thus, you shall be wed to Lady Sansa of House Stark."

The air went out of the room. Nobody moved, nobody spoke, and time stretched on as the king's words sunk in.

"No," said Rhaenys, her voice so low it was almost a growl.

Dany looked to Aegon. The prince appeared to be dazed, absorbing the king's words before finally finding his voice. "Father, you speak of uniting the kingdom once more. How can we do that if we continue to place one of our vassals above all others?"

Rhaegar nodded, anticipating this rebuke. "Stark, Arryn, Tully, Martell. And now Baratheon. Yes, Sansa will be the second Stark to serve as queen. But we have bound ourselves to many of the other paramount houses in our realm. I have every confidence in their loyalty, now and in the future."

"You cannot do this!" said Rhaenys, trembling with fury as she rose to her feet. "You would alienate our vassals, jeopardize our family's rule, all based on a children's story and the words of a senile old man?"

Dany had no great love for Rhaenys, but the princess had taken the word from her mouth. "And what of me then?" Rhaenys continued. "Who will you marry me off to, some fortune teller from Flea Bottom who claims I am his destiny?"

"No, Rhaenys," said Rhaegar with a sigh, a hint of sadness in his voice. "The dragon needs a third head, forged from ice and fire."

"Ice," he repeated, turning his head to Jon, who had yet to speak. "And fire," he repeated, now returning his gaze to Rhaenys.

"What... what are you saying, father?" asked Jon, looking up at the king.

"Jon and Rhaenys," said Rhaegar, his soft voice carrying throughout the chamber. "You represent the third head, and the union of the seeds of my first marriage with those of my second. I have sent men to begin rebuilding the ruins of Summerhall, where I was born amid salt and smoke. It shall be returned to its former glory, and it shall be your seat. You will rule together, a southern bastion of House Targaryen, defending us from any and all threats - just as Jon defended Aegon from the Mountain's blade. And when the time comes, and the great threat looms, all of us will rise together, bringers of light amid the darkness."

Rhaenys stood motionless, her olive skin turned an angry shade of red. Her violet eyes bored into Rhaegar's, before turning for a moment on Jon. Then, without another word, the king's eldest daughter stormed from the chamber.

Aegon was shaking his head, while Jon looked frozen in place. _Ice, indeed,_ thought Dany. To her, this felt like nothing if not the ultimate jest. She'd received the most important tidings of her life only minutes before, only for it to prove a tiny sideshow in a much larger farce. But in the end, why was she surprised? Of course Rhaegar would concoct a way for he and his precious brats to be the heroes in some legend. And of course, little Dany, the belated daughter of a disgraced king, would be consigned to the shadows, irrelevant and unnecessary.

Daenerys rose to her feet, striding silently out of the solar in Rhaenys' wake. _So now the die is cast_ , she thought to herself as she strode away. And where did that leave her? Would she succumb meekly to her fate, content to pleasure her husband, birth a few babes and then slowly wither away while Rhaegar's spawn shaped the kingdom's future? _No_ , said a voice inside her, with a steely strength she hardly recognized. _No, I will not._

 

**Cersei**

  
The Red Keep was alive with whispers, and Cersei devoured them eagerly. It had not taken long for the news of the royal betrothals to spread. There were falsehoods mixed among them, of course, but over the past few hours a clear narrative had emerged. _Rhaegar's Folly_ , some were calling it. Cersei smiled at the thought. Yes, she had once desired the silver prince more than anything in this world. But that dream died long ago, when he'd first chosen the plain and frail Elia Martell over her, then been beguiled by the bitch from Winterfell.

And now he'd repeated his mistake, inexplicably betrothing his heir to yet another Stark. _As mad as his father_ , thought Cersei. How could she ever have been besotted with that fool?

Cersei reached for her cup, taking yet another hearty sip of her favorite Dornish red. This was a day for celebration. She looked around the chambers the Lannisters had been granted for the duration of the tourney. They were well-appointed enough, but nothing compared to the comforts she was used to in Highgarden, let alone the luxury of Casterly Rock.

With her in the rooms were Jaime and their younger half-sister Amerei, whom Cersei now turned her attention to. "Well, Ami," she said, grinning cruelly. "Handsome Harry is betrothed to Princess Daenerys. Didn't I see you stealing away with him from the feast a few nights ago? It seems that your _efforts_ went to waste."

Cersei had raged at her father when told he intended to remarry, replacing their beloved mother with Mariya of House Darry. She'd never truly accepted her stepmother into their family, nor the lone daughter Mariya had given Lord Tywin.

"Father _told_ me to impress him, Cersei," said Amerei indignantly.

"I think he meant with your wit, dear sister," Cersei replied. "Not with your cunt."

Ami's face flushed a shade of Lannister crimson. Cersei had little concern that her young half-sister would ever surpass her in beauty, though she was annoyed to see that Amerei's breasts had come in larger than her own. The men of the Rock had taken notice, and Ami had obliged their attentions if the rumors were true.

"Now, now, ladies," said Jaime with a chuckle. "Let's save the conflict for when father gets here."

The three siblings were awaiting the arrival of Lord Tywin, who had given word that they were to convene in his chambers in the aftermath of the day's news. Though Cersei had long ago lost any desire to comingle with the Targaryens, her father had still harbored ambitions of royal matches for his or Jaime's spawn. Now that those hopes were dashed, his pride yet again wounded, there was no telling what Tywin Lannister might do.

Cersei knew what she wanted, and she was convinced that Jaime shared the same wish. Now the only remaining question was whether father and the Tyrells would have enough sense to fulfill it.

The suspense was quickly lifted as the door swung open and Lord Tywin stalked into the room. His expression was cold and grim as always, but Cersei knew her father well enough to sense the anger lurking beneath that facade.

"I expect you have all heard the news," said Tywin, remaining standing in his children's midst.

"It is as I told you, father," said Cersei. "The dragons are in the thrall of those tree-worshiping heathens. Lyanna whispers in the King's ear and leads him on the path to ruin."

Twyin's jaw clenched, his calculating eyes settling on his daughter. "You may have been right for once, Cersei. Rhaegar has spurned our house yet again, and the Tyrells as well."

"And how do you intend to respond, father?" asked Jaime, cocking an eyebrow.

Tywin regarded them all for a moment, his hands clenched at his sides. "I have spoken to Lady Olenna. It seems Torean Tully has approached her, asking for Margeary's hand. She intends to accept."

" _What_?" spat Cersei, her wine suddenly tasting sour. "She will accept those tablescraps for her precious rose? The king's half-brother, when they wanted the crown prince? I will speak to my husband at once."

Tywin scoffed. "Garlan holds no sway over the Queen of Thorns, you know that better than anyone." Cersei could not deny it - there was little doubt as to who truly made decisions in Highgarden.

"But this may yet work in our favor," continued Tywin. "Our spies tell us that relations are strained between between Torean and the king. And I can assure you, the Tyrells have taken the news of the betrothals no better than we have."

"Interesting," said Cersei. _Very interesting_. "And what else came of your chat with the Queen of Thorns?" She exchanged a glance with Jaime - this was the moment of truth.

"We discussed another betrothal," said Tywin with a weary sigh. "And it seems you will have your wish. The need for a strong alliance between Lannister and Tyrell is now greater than ever. As such, Tyman will be wed to your eldest daughter."

Cersei's heart burst with joy as she leapt to her feet, embracing a startled Tywin in a way she hadn't since she was a girl. "Thank you, father. Eleana will make a worthy Lady of the Rock, I promise you." She looked over his shoulder at Jaime, sending him a wicked grin. It had been a long time since she'd last let him have her, but tonight that drought would end.

"What about me, father?" Cersei had almost forgotten about her sister's presence - leave it to Ami to spoil the perfection of this moment.

"My initial hopes for you were thwarted," said Tywin. "But a wise lord always has contingencies, and I have other plans for you."

He moved to the table, pouring himself a glass of wine and taking a measured sip. "We will leave this stinking city, and we will lick our wounds. We will grow stronger, watching from afar as the Targaryens weaken. And we will not forget these sleights. A Lannister always pays his debts."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it. This is how I chose to interpret the prophecy in a world where Rhaegar, Aegon and Jon all still live. And yes, technically Jon is already both ice and fire in one - but in terms of the characters, he is the perfect ice to Rhaenys' fire.
> 
> To those who say Rhaegar and his councilors would know better than to base betrothals on prophecy - keep in mind Rhaegar in canon. I firmly believe that he ran away with Lyanna - and started a massive war - because he saw her as the missing piece of the Song of Ice and Fire. He did not behave rationally or in his political best interests then, so why should he now?
> 
> Next chapter will be devoted to Jon/Rhaenys (including her POV), the following will be all Aegon/Sansa. Oh, and this fic has been fairly light on smut thus far, but it's going to get hot and heavy as we explore all of these new pairings :)


	11. Rhaenys, Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we go

**Rhaenys**

 

Rhaenys held her head high as she stalked away from the royal solar. She had trained herself as a girl to walk with confidence and pride, no matter the circumstance. Even now, as she wanted to drop to her knees and sob, her instincts would not allow it. She was a princess, and they could never see her cry.

The gold cloaks that fell in step behind her may as well have been invisible, same as everyone else Rhaenys passed en route to her chambers. She could only hope her ladies were otherwise occupied. Arianne had a soft spot for Jon, for reasons only the gods knew. And Valeana Toland's long red locks would only remind her of that northern shrew who would be taking her Aegon, and her crown.

It was a betrayal. How else could she describe what her father had done? Her Uncle Oberyn had told her once that the world was full of snakes, and the only way to survive was to let the others taste your venom first. Rhaenys never trusted anyone, not fully. She was no fool; they all had their own motives, their own games to play. But yet some silly, stupid part of her believed that her father was different. That in the end, he would do what was right.

It was hard to accept that he had thwarted her dreams, her happiness, all for a ridiculous prophecy. There had to be more to it, and Rhaenys suspected she knew what it was. _Lyanna._

The princess' mistrust of her father's second wife began when she was a little girl. She had only the faintest memories of her mother, Princess Elia - the feeling of her brushing her hair, the way she smelled, the sound of her voice as she hummed a Dornish melody. The stronger memories were of the confusion and pain of seeing her father with a strange new woman. And now Rhaenys herself would be replaced at her brother's side by undeserving northerner, just as her mother was.

It wasn't until the door to her chambers close behind her that Rhaenys let the mask fall away. She stood motionless, bitter tears rolling down her cheeks. Her entire life she'd clung to the dream of her and Aegon, loving and protecting each other as they ruled the kingdoms side by side. She envisioned that future so many times it felt like a mantra, a way to calm her mind in times of distress. Now in her moment of greatest need, the very idea that always comforted her had become the source of all her pain. _A fantasy._ That's all it ever was.

These dark thoughts were interrupted by a knock behind her. Rhaenys spun around angrily to face the door - who would dare intrude on her in this moment? Her rage was replaced by surprise as it swung open to reveal her grandmother.

Concern was written in clear lines over the dowager queen Rhaella's face. "Oh, my dear Rhaenys," she said sadly as she saw the streaks of tears on the cheeks of her eldest grandchild.

Rhaenys remained silent as the elegant old woman approached. Her grandmother was one of a very few people that had her trust and respect, but she did not want anyone's hollow words of solace right now.

The queen cleared her throat as she came to a stop a few feet from her granddaughter. "I am sure you wish to be alone right now, but I'm afraid I cannot allow it. In moments like this, you must find relief among those who love you."

Rhaenys cast her eyes to the ground with a heavy sigh, feeling her eyes wetten once again. "I thought my father loved me. Now he condemns me to a marriage I do not want."

"I know exactly how you feel, my darling," said the queen, her own amethyst eyes shining as well. "Do not forget, I too was once betrothed to a brother I didn't want."

"Yes, and we know how well that went." Rhaenys regretted the words as soon as she'd spoken them, but it was too late to take them back.

"Jon is not Aerys, my dear," the queen said quietly. "Far, far from it." Rhaella walked past her toward the balcony, where the sunset's orange glow glimmered over Blackwater Bay. It would have been beautiful, if Rhaenys were of a mind to appreciate it.

"I know he is not the husband you wanted," said Rhaella, turning back to face her daughter. "There has only ever been room in your heart for Aegon, and your dreams of ruling at his side. But I have been a queen, and I can promise you, a crown is not a promise of happiness."

"Aegon is a part of me," said Rhaenys, feeling indignant once more. "Jon is a stranger, nothing more."

"Jon is your blood," said the queen. "That is true, whether or not you will it to be so. And more important than that, Jon is _good_ , all the way to his core. I love all of my grandchildren with all of my heart, but you and I are both aware of Aegon's shortcomings.

Rhaenys looked away. The loss of her future with Aegon had almost made her forget how angry with him she'd been in recent weeks, how betrayed she'd felt by his indiscretions.

"Heed the words of woman who has known two husbands," the queen continued, the weight of a lifetime of memories underlying her words. "Loyalty and devotion are what truly matter, not power and thrones."

Rhaenys was too young to remember much of the Mad King's reign, but everyone agreed that Rhaella's marriage to Hoster Tully breathed new life into the woman that was once a broken queen.

And yet still. "I have always treated Jon like an annoyance," she said. "An unwanted guest more than a brother. What cause would he have to be loyal to me?"

"That's the beautiful thing about your youngest brother," the queen replied with a smile. "He does not need a reason for loyalty - it is in his nature. I think you know that, in your heart. If you show him that your love is there to be had, he will move heaven and earth to earn it."

 

**Jon**

 

The Red Keep's yard was going to need a new training dummy by the time Jon was through with it. All of the anger, confusion and turmoil he'd felt since his father's announcements that afternoon were being unleashed upon the undeserving structure of burlap and wood, one blow at a time.

It was almost too much to comprehend. Dragons, prophecies, ice and fire. _He and Rhaenys._ The thought sent another burst of flame coursing through him as he launched into another onslaught, his blunted sword hammering blows with each rotation of the wooden arms.

"I thought I might find you here." Jon turned, startled at the unexpected interruption, to find his brother approaching from the yard's entrance behind him.

"Aegon," Jon said by way of greeting, setting his sword aside as he caught his breath. He'd hoped to have more time alone, but it seemed he couldn't hide from the world so easily.

"I see that you're taking this news as well as I am," said the crown prince with a small grin that did not quite reach his eyes.

Jon met his brother's gaze. "It feels like a bad dream," he said quietly.

"Because it is," Aegon sighed, taking a seat beside his bother on the low stone wall bordering the yard. "Father's dream, of our family's great and mystical destiny." The sarcasm in his voice was overt. "Tell me," he continued. "What do you make of this so-called prophecy?"

"It doesn't matter what I think," said Jon, staring up at towers of keep surrounding them. "What will the other great houses think, when they learn that yet another queen will be a Stark?"

"I'm surprised, Jon," said Aegon, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you would be happy for your northern kin."

"Maybe I should be," said Jon. "Sansa used to play at being queen when she was younger, casting Jeyne and Beth as her ladies in waiting and ordering Robb to bring her lemoncakes."

Aegon smiled at that. "I've only spoken to her once, you know," he said thoughtfully. "And in a fortnight we'll be wed. You lived with her for five years at Winterfell. Tell me more, Jon - is she ready for all that's to be put upon her?"

Jon welcomed the brief distraction from his own predicament. "Lady Catelyn prepared her for this since birth, raised her to be the perfect Southron lady. She has her mother's strength, and her good sense as well. Maybe some will rub off on you."

"The gods know I could use some," said Aegon, playfully swatting at his brother.

They fell silent for a moment. "You must be good to her, Aegon," said Jon, looking at the crown prince. "Treat her well, and she will make a fine wife and an even better queen."

Aegon nodded, taking on a solemn expression Jon had rarely seen on his brother's face. "I will, Jon. I'm glad to hear you speak so well of her. It seems father's strange decisions may have worked in my favor."

Jon's heart sunk once again at those words. "If only I could say the same."

"Yes," said Aegon, smiling wryly. "We must talk about our sweet sister."

"What is there to say?" Jon said bitterly, rising to his feet and turning to face his brother. "I'm marrying a woman that hates me."

"Rhaenys doesn't hate you, Jon," Aegon replied. "But she's never trusted you either."

"Why?" said Jon, his voice rising as feelings from his childhood rose back to the surface. "What have I ever done to deserve her distrust?"

"Nothing," said Aegon with a sigh. "Besides exist. The fact that you are here is a constant reminder that our mother is not."

"It's hopeless then," said Jon, shaking his head angrily. "I cannot change who I am."

"You don't have to," replied Aegon, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I know that you are a true Targaryen, devoted to our house beyond a shadow of a doubt. You proved that when you saved me from Clegane. Rhaenys was there, Jon. And deep down, she knows it too."

"If her views on me have changed," Jon replied, "she hid it well when she stormed away after hearing we would be wed."

"Rhaenys has lived her whole life focused on one vision," said Aegon. "It won't be easy to embrace a new one, but give her time, and she will."

"I wish I could believe that," said Jon, turning to walk away. He was glad he'd been able to improve his brother's mood, but now he truly needed time alone.

"Jon," Aegon called after him. "One more thing." Jon slowly turned around to face him once more. "Rhaenys has a will like iron, and she will try to bend you to it like she once did me. Father was right about one thing - there is ice within you. Show her that ice does not bend, and you may just make her yours."

* * *

 

Jon tried to still his pounding heart as he approached the door to her chambers. It was the evening following his father's announcement, and he'd retired to his rooms when the summons came: the princess Rhaenys wished to speak with him. They'd managed to avoid one another up until now, but it seemed that the time for a reckoning had come.

Stepping through the doorway, Jon saw the flicker of candlelight dancing throughout the spacious confines. Then his gaze centered on the young woman who awaited within.

His breath hitched as he took in the princess. She was striking as always, a pitch black gown clinging tightly to her tall, athletic form. A golden chain inset with rubies was wrapped around her narrow waist, with a matching thin gold circlet resting atop her long, raven locks.

"Good evening, Rhaenys," Jon managed as he stepped cautiously into the room.

"Jon," the princess replied, her voice impossible to read. "There is wine, if you want it." She gestured to the table to his left. Rhaenys already held a goblet in hand, and Jon thought it best to accept the invitation, pouring himself a glass of Dornish red. _He'd likely need it._

"I thought we should probably speak, given that it seems we are to be wed in a matter of weeks," said Rhaenys, her eyes slightly narrowed.

Jon took a healthy sip of red, buying himself time to respond. "I am sorry I haven't come to you sooner. Father's announcement was... sudden."

"That's one way to put it," said Rhaenys, laughing ruefully. "Let's dispense with the courtesies, Jon. This wasn't the match I wanted, and I doubt it was your first choice either. Stop me if I speak falsely."

Jon opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it.

"You've never been to Summerhall, have you Jon?" said the princess, walking to gaze out the window.

"I have not," Jon replied. In truth, he'd been so consumed with dread of his impending marriage that he'd hardly spared a thought for the lands they would be given.

"Well I have," replied the princess, turning back to look at him. Her amber skin seemed to glow in the candlelight, as if she herself were lit from within. "Father brought us there years ago, during your time in the north. It was still mostly in ruins then, but if you closed your eyes you could see what it had been. A palace, nestled before the foothills of the Red Mountains. A place of wonder, and a symbol of Targaryen wealth."

"And now it is being rebuilt," said Jon. "I'm told it will be stronger this time. A true keep."

"Yes," replied the princess. "We have learned from the mistakes of our ancestors. We no longer have dragons, and we cannot waste time building pretty summer homes. Summerhall will be a castle, a Targaryen bastion beyond the Red Keep and Dragonstone. It will be strong. And it will be ours."

"That it will." Part of Jon was pleased to hear her speak like this, of the future. Their future. But he could not let his guard down. He knew Rhaenys too well.

His sister turned away from the window, leaning against the edge of her bed as she faced him. "This is happening, Jon, whether we like it or not. My fate will be tied with yours. And though I have doubted you in the past, you proved your loyalty to Aegon in the melee. Now, though, you must pledge yourself to me."

Jon looked up to find her violet eyes boring into his. Beads of sweat were now running under his doublet. "Rhaenys, whatever you think of me, of the Starks, you must set it aside. I am a Targaryen. I love my family, and on my honor I will -"

"Yes, yes," said Rhaenys, cutting him off. "I hear your words, but speaking was never your strong suit. Why don't you put your mouth to better use, and _prove_ that you will be loyal to me."

The princess pushed herself up so that she now sat on the edge of the bed, Jon's pulse quickening as she slowly pulled at the fabric of her gown until it pooled around her hips. She wore no smallclothes underneath.

Jon fought the urge to gape as her long, tanned legs spread apart before him. He was as green as could be when it came to women, but Aegon and Robb had told him tales of how men could use their mouths to please their ladies. _The Lord's Kiss._ _Was this truly what she asked for?_

His mind was gripped by nerves and uncertainty, yet his feet moved forward, seemingly of their own volition. Before he could think, he found himself kneeling before the princess, the pink lips of her sex waiting to greet him.

He ran his hand down the smooth skin of her thigh before parting her labia with his fingers. He leaned forward, his tongue creeping out to take one of her soft lips on his mouth and suck at it gently. A sigh of pleasure seemed to urge him onward, and Jon moved his tongue to trace a path across her entrance.

Rhaenys spread her legs further apart, and a salty tang mixed with the flavor of wine on Jon's tongue as it pushed its way into her cunt. "You learn quickly, Jon," Rhaenys purred. He looked up to see her eyes closed in pleasure as she leaned back on her elbows, a triumphant smile creasing her lips.

Jon gripped each of her highs tightly as he began licking her cunt in earnest. Rhaenys ran her hands through his curls, tugging gently upward to guide him to the small pink nub perched over her entrance. His tongue crept instinctively beneath the hood to tease at the pearl within, and the response was instant.

"Oh, yes, Jon. Right there," she moaned as he began licking tight circles around her bud of pleasure, her pelvis rocking forward to meet him. Her moans grew in volume as he enveloped her with his lips, his tongue flicking and dancing across her pearl, then returning to her sex to lap at the juices that now flowed freely from within.

"That's a good boy, Jon," she said, as he sensed her building to what must be a climax. "I think you will serve me well."

Something inside him paused at those words, remembering what Aegon had told him. _She will try to bend you to her will._ All his life, Rhaenys had placed herself above him. Now was his chance to start anew, and here he was - on his knees, serving her, giving her pleasure. As he felt himself hard as a rock within his breeches, Jon's mind settled. He abruptly ceased his ministrations and rose to his feet.

"What are you doing?" snapped Rhaenys, her eyes flashing. "You will finish me. _Now_."

"No, Rhaenys," said Jon, meeting her stare as he loosened his breeches, allowing his hardened member to spring free. "We will finish together."

Rhaeny's eyes widened as she understood his intent, her gaze then shifting to look upon Jon's lengthy manhood. Before he could second guess himself, Jon positioned its head at her entrance, then slowly leaned forward and pushed his way within.

 _Oh, gods._ That was the only thought he was able to form as his manhood slid inside her, utterly gripped by the warm, wet wells of her cunt. It was Rhaenys' turn to gape at him, biting her lip in pleasure as he buried himself within her.

Jon stood over the princess as she lay facing up at him, taking each of her toned legs in hand as he began slowly thrusting inside her. Her hips started moving in rhythm with his own, meeting each thrust as he worked his way deeper within. The sensation was incredible, and Jon finally understood why men lost their minds and their fortunes in the pursuit of it.

Their pace quickened as Rhaenys wrapped her legs around him, her hands clenching his doublet as they bucked in unison. Jon shifted his hands to grip at her supple arse, thrusting harder as he sensed his end approaching.

Suddenly Rhaenys' walls grew even tighter around him, her entire body seeming to shudder as a series of high-pitched moans announced her climax. Her spasming cunt was too much for Jon to withstand, and he let out his own groan of pleasure as he felt his seed spurt deep within her.

He stayed still for a long moment before rolling to lay at her side, both of them panting and shining with sweat. It was a long time before they turned to look at one another. And when they did, their eyes stayed locked, and neither looked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, guess I fully earned my E rating. Probably not how Rhaella meant for her advice to be interpreted, but Rhaenys has her own way of doing things. I've had that scene in mind since before starting this fic, so I'm glad I finally got to write it!
> 
> For those who were hoping for lots of chapters of Jon/Rhaenys angst, well - sorry to disappoint! Don't get me wrong, they won't ride off happily into the sunset, but they're both pragmatic enough to know they need to try to make this work. Will it become anything more than that? We'll see.
> 
> Sorry for the long wait - I plan to have another chapter up (royal weddings!) within the next two weeks. Hope you enjoyed!


	12. Sansa/Aegon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The royal weddings.

**Sansa**

The last fortnight had passed like a whirlwind. It seemed just yesterday that Sansa's father had burst excitedly into her chambers, a mixture of triumph and disbelief upon Lord Brandon's face as he told her she was to marry the crown prince. And now the day was here.

Sansa's heart pounded in her chest as she looked in the mirror, Jeyne and Beth flitting about restlessly as they made adjustments to her hair, gown and jewelry. The gown itself was a gift from Queen Lyanna - white satin with red lining, and the outline of grey direwolves stitched into the bodice. It was fit for a royal wedding.

"Wait until Prince Aegon lays eyes on his lady wife," said Beth, hardly able to contain herself.

"He'll be calling for the bedding at once," added Jeyne with a giggle.

 _Prince Aegon. Lady wife. Bedding._ That these terms were all grouped together, and applied to her, was still hard for Sansa to fathom. She sucked in a deep breath at the thought. "I hope he does me the courtesy of a dance first," she joked, projecting a calmness she most certainly did not feel.

When her father delivered the news, Sansa had felt the world spinning around her. Father told her that she must have impressed the royal family over the course of tourney; mother said that they saw her as a perfect bridge to link north and south through the next generation. Sansa wasn't sure either theory made sense. _Why marry the prince to another northerner, when Aunt Lyanna already reigns as queen?_ There were seven kingdoms under Targaryen rule; it seemed deeply unwise to favor one so clearly over the rest.

The decision seemed certain to insult the other great houses, a reality that made itself quickly apparent. Sansa remembered walking through the Red Keep with her companions the day after the betrothal was announced, and coming upon Margaery Tyrell and her retinue.

Rumors were swirling that the Lannisters and Tyrells would be leaving the capital immediately, declining to remain for the royal weddings they'd been excluded from. That appeared to be true given the harried state of Lady Margaery and her retinue as Sansa passed them in the hall.

Her interactions with Lord Mace's daughter had been pleasant up to that point, but Margeary's smile did not reach her eyes as Sansa approached. "Lady Sansa," said Margaery, dipping into the slightest cursty. "The name on every tongue. Congratulations on your betrothal."

"And on yours, Lady Margaery," Sansa replied, feigning warmth in way every highborn girl is taught. "My uncle Torean will make a fine husband, and if you have not been to Riverrun I assure you of its beauty."

"I will see it soon enough," said Margaery. "We leave on the morrow. I'll regret to miss the wedding, but I wish you the best of luck with our prince. They say there are dragons that cannot be tamed, but I'm sure you'll prove them wrong." Her gaggle of cousins tittered at that.

"Green has always been your color, Lady Margaery," said Sansa, anger flaring in her stomach. "I wish you safe travels north." She strode away at that, Jane and Beth whispering excitedly at her flanks.

But it wasn't just Margaery - the envious eyes of numerous young ladies had followed her since the betrothal. Sansa understood it, but she didn't need to like it.

She could ponder no further as Lady Catelyn strode into her chambers, dismissing her companions before embracing her daughter. "My darling Sansa," said Catelyn, staring into the deep blue eyes that mirrored her own. "You look beautiful, truly fit to wed a prince."

"Hush, mother," said Sansa, blushing. "If my corset isn't loosened I think I may faint before I reach the sept." They shared a laugh at that, and Catelyn began seeing to her daughter's dress and hair as only a mother can.

"Tell me, how do you feel, Sansa? It's normal to be nervous, you know."

"It's not the wedding I'm worried about," sighed Sansa. "I've been rehearsing for that since I was a girl, as you well know. It's everything that comes after."

"Aha," said Catelyn knowingly. "Well that's normal too. I know the bedding can seem scary, especially with a man with experience. Your father sowed his wild oats before our betrothal too, you know."

"Mother!" said Sansa, turning a deeper shade of red. She had heard the tales of her father's _adventurous_ younger days, though it was a topic she did not care to dwell on.

"My knees were quaking when they dropped me in the doorway to his chambers," Catelyn continued uninvited. "But he knew how to please a woman, and gods what an incredible nigh-"

"That's enough, thank you!" said Sansa, incredulous. "I wasn't even talking about the bedding. I'm talking about a life as the wife of the crown prince. All the eyes of the kingoms will be on me. Questioning whether I'm worthy, whispering of whether I'll give him an heir. I don't know if I can stand all the attention, the pressure." Her voice was rising as she gave word to thoughts that had tormented her for the past fortnight.

"Sansa, my dear," said Catelyn, taking her daughter by the shoulders. "When we rode for King's Landing, this outcome was not one your father and I foresaw. The gods know we didn't expect Robb to wind up wedding a Frey either, but here we are."

Sansa was the only person her parents had entrusted with the true reason Robb found himself in the Red Keep's godswood three days past, exchanging his vows with Walda Frey. The scandal hadn't prevented his fair bride from beaming with satisfaction as the direwolf cloak was placed around her shoulders.

"But you were raised to be a lady, and be one you shall. Its a larger stage, but with that crown will come the opportunity for you to do good for the realm." She smiled at her eldest daughter, raising a hand to her chin. "The prince will expect be expecting to get his way, but it's for you to guide him as to _what_ that way should be. You will bring some good northern sense to the Iron Throne, just as Queen Lyanna has."

* * *

  
The next hour seemed to stretch into eternity, but at last the time came to journey to the Sept of Baelor. Sansa boarded the royally appointed carriage with Jeyne and Beth by her side, where they'd been since her girlhood. That was one of the many things that were about change in Sansa's life. Beth was returning north after the wedding, betrothed to marry Benfred Tallert and start a life at Torrhen's Square. Jenye, thankfully would remain in King's Landing - with the rest of the Starks all soon departing, Sansa needed someone she could trust at her side. The pretty Poole girl would be wed to Ser Jaceyn Bywater, a captain of the gold cloaks, and would serve as Sansa's chief lady in waiting. Joining her would be three other young highborn girls, giving Sansa a flock of handmaidens as was apparently suited for the wife of a crown prince.

Emerging from Aegon's High Hill, they slowly wound their way through the streets of King's Landing. Sansa had been nervous at what the common people's response would be to another princess from the foreign north, so it warmed her heart to her the cheers of the merchants, blacksmiths and stable boys lining their path. Some even threw blue flowers in their wake - not winter roses, for they were hard to come by in the south, but still serving as a symbol of northern queen. Lyanna was beloved by the people, now even moreso than the increasingly distant king. The commoners did not care if some pompous Reachlord was insulted by the match. Devout followers of the Seven were appreciated that unlike her aunt, Sansa was raised with their gods along with those of the north - and though they'd been forced to tolerate the Targaryen custom of wedding brother to sister, it still pleased the people to see a royal match not born of incest.

Sansa felt like she was walking through a dream as their carriage arrived in front of the sept. She was only loosely aware of the presence of her mother and father at either side as she climbed the marbled steps and entered the great cathedral of the Seven. Hundreds of eyes were surely upon her, but Sansa stared straight ahead as they made their way to the front of the airy chamber. She feared that if she looked anywhere else she would lose her nerve, and she had no desire to faint in front of half the realm.

Whether a mercy or a curse, Sansa had to wait longer yet, for another marriage was set to take place before her own. She snapped out of her trance at the sight of the two figures that made their way to the altar - her cousin, Jon Targaryen, and his half sister Princess Rhaenys.

It was somewhat rare, a double wedding, but the circumstances were unique. With so many highborn families gathered in the capital, several recent betrothals had already been quickly consummated. Sansa glanced to her left, where Robb sat with the newly made Walda Stark. Past him was Damon, sitting beside his own recently betrothed. Myranda Royce, the future lady of Moat Cailin, threw her a wink and a grin.

If there was one match that rivaled Sansa's own in controversy, it was that of Jon and Rhaenys. So it was to Sansa's - and all the court's - great surprise at the lack of hostility in the manner of the two siblings as they faced one another and said their vows. Sansa felt her jaw drop when the slightest smile graced Jon's lips as he placed a cloak bearing his new sigil, a white dragon on a field of black, around his sister's shoulders. Her jaw proceeded to hit the floor when they actually kissed - and not unwarmly at that.

As the newly-wed siblings left the altar to the cheers of the crowd, Sansa felt her heart leap to her throat. Now, at last, was the time. She felt as if she were watching from outside herself as she heard the High Septon call her name, and as her father escorted her forth to meet her betrothed.

Aegon looked every bit the dragon prince, standing tall, broad and silver haired, clad in a richly embroidered red and black doublet. A thin gold circlet set with a trio of rubies sat atop his head, and his purple eyes shined from beneath it. He projected confidence as always, but she thought she detected a hint of nervousness beneath it. _At least I'm not the only one_ , she thought as she gave him a small smile.

As the choir finished their songs and the High Septon began his prayers, Sansa was suddenly overcome with the realization of what this moment meant. She was about to wed the crown prince of the Seven Kingdoms. She would be queen one day, and her son would follow her husband as King on the Iron Throne. Even when playing 'come-into-my castle' with Jeyne and Beth as a girl, she had never imagined herself as a queen. And yet here she stood.

She became aware of Aegon once more, his gaze now quizzical as his mouth curled into a bemused little smirk. It must've been clear she'd be been lost in thought. _Only I could manage to be caught daydreaming in the midst of my own wedding._

Sasna had come to her senses just in time, as the prince now stepped forward, having been handed a cloak bearing the colors and sigil of the royal house. He moved behind Sansa, removing the gray and white colors that had always been hers to replace them with the black and red of House Targaryen.

Her heart was pounding as she said her vows, but she kept her voice level and calm. Yet she felt herself blush as the words "with this kiss" passed through her lips. She was sure her cheeks remained flushed as she leaned forward to meet the Prince, who smiled with the relief of one who has survived the hard part. Their lips met, holding for a just moment before parting once more. Aegon turned to the cheering crowd, his smile having grown further still.

And Sansa turned alongside him, holding out her hand to meet his own. They strode forth from the altar as white flower petals showered from the balconies of the Great Sept. Sansa felt surge of something she could not name as she heard the herald's cry: "The Crown Prince Aegon, and the Princess Sansa of House Targaryen!"

* * *

  
The feast was the grandest that Sansa had ever seen, as was only fitting for the weddings of two princes. She was seated at the high table, at the right of her new husband. King Rhaegar and Queen Lyanna sat at the center, with Jon and Rhaenys at their other side.

At Sansa's left was Danearys, sitting next to her bethrothed. The fair haired Harrold Arryn was droning on about something, mouth full of mutton, while the princess stared off listlessly. _Could have been me_ , thought Sansa wryly.

Past Jon at the other end of the table sat Vaena, babbling to her future husband - of courtly gossip, no doubt. The strapping Baratheon heir grinned dumbly as he stared back at his beautiful betrothed, doing his best to follow.

"Tell me, Sansa," said Aegon as one servant began refilling her wine while yet another shaved slices of roast heron onto her plate. "Will you be able to get used to the life of a princess?"

"It will be an adjustment," replied Sansa with a chuckle, recalling Robb and Arya's exaggerated bow and curtsy after the wedding. "Being the center of attention has its downfalls, I gather."

"Indeed it does," said Aegon. "King's Landing is a maze to navigate, and I don't just mean the city streets. But this life does have its perks," he added with a grin. He nodded toward the group of cooks now wheeling forth a massive, elaborate cake, edged with thick white icing. Sansa laughed as the smell of lemon reached her nose. _He may yet be the man of my heart after all._

* * *

  
Sansa was glad she hadn't shied away from the wine at dinner when the time came to her first dance with Aegon as all the Great Hall looked on. Thankfully they were not alone at the center of the chambers, as Jon and Rhaenys moved through their steps nearby.

Rhaenys was graceful as always, clad in a long black gown that made her amber skin glow. Jon's inexperience showed, but his grace as a swordsman translated just enough to make him decent.  
Aegon meanwhile was as gallant a dancer as he was in the jousts, and Sansa could not deny that his strong hands felt good around her waist. Soon other dancers took to the floor, and Sansa found herself matched with her royal cousin.

"Well, Prince Jon," she asked, smiling mischievously as they danced. "Things certainly seem have changed for the better between you and Rhaenys. Tell me your secret?"

"I wish I knew one," said Jon, grinning shyly. "Gods know I that my sister and I have a long road ahead. But she wants the best for our house, and by some cruel joke of the gods that means she needs to make the best of things with me."

"I am happy for you Jon," said Sansa, and she meant it. "Perhaps the wrath of Rhaenys will shift from you to me. I stole her precious prince, after all."

"My sister can be fiery," said Jon as they spun in rhythm. "But she is also smart. She knows that you had no say in our father's decisions, just like the rest of us. She will move past this, but it will take time. And mayhaps some distance will be good as well." Rhaegar had announced that Jon and Rhaenys would be taking up residence at Summerhall in a few moon's time to help lead the restoration of their future keep.

"Time," echoed Sansa. "I think we could all use some, after so many things have changed." She sneaked a glance at Aegon then, as he danced nearby. _And so many new things now begin._

  
  
**Sansa/Aegon**

  
Sansa was breathless as she felt herself deposited into their new chambers. The rowdy lordlings had likely been more delicate than in a typical bedding, given it was the bride of the crown prince they carried. Except for that Edric Baratheon, who proved to be almost as handsy as his lord father.

She spared a moment to look around the spacious room, already lit by candlelight. Aegon now officially had the title of Prince of Dragonstone, but he would remain in the capital to learn the art of rulership under his father. Viserys would return to his role as lord steward of the isle, and his strange red bride along with him.

Aegon stumbled into the chambers to see Sansa already within, a pack of eager maidens having stripped him down to his smallclothes. He took in the sight of his bride, his pulse quickening as he found her glad in only a thin shift.

Sana's long auburn hair now fell in tresses down past her shoulders, and her blue eyes bored into his own. "You truly are a beauty, my lady," said Aegon as he took a step toward her. Rhaegar's decision may not have been a political boon, but elsewise Aegon could not begrudge his father's choice of bride. He'd found out all he could about Sansa Stark after learning they would be wed, and from all he'd heard she'd prove to be a worthy match, not only in appearance but in mind and temperament as well.

The prince now wore nothing above his waist, giving Sansa a full view of his muscled torso, sculpted during a boyhood spent in the training yard. "Thank you, my Prince," she replied, trying to hide her nerves.

Aegon stopped just before reaching her. "Sansa," he said, looking into her eyes. "I am not a perfect prince. Surely some word of the misadventures of my youth has reached your ears."

"I may have heard a rumor or two," said Sansa coyly, unsure where he was headed. "But one never knows what to believe in King's Landing."

"Those were a young man's follies," said Aegon. "Starting now, I intend to act as a future king, and as a worthy husband." He reached out to take her hand in his. "I will be good and loyal to you, Sansa. I will depend on your wisdom, as the Seven know I wasn't blessed with quite enough of it."

Sansa laughed nervously. She had not expected this soliloquy, and she knew better than to believe that a man could wholly change his nature overnight. But she could not repress the shred of hope that emerged in her heart at the prince's words. "I will do my best to be a good and noble wife to you, Aegon. To give you sons and daughters, and to help you survive this nest of vipers unscathed."

The Prince chuckled at that. "A man can ask no more of his wife," he said, smiling as he raised her hand to his lips. "As to making sons and daughters, I suppose we have some work to do."

Aegon leaned forward then, and the kiss they shared felt altogether different from their chaste peck on the altar. Aegon placed his hands at her sides, while she gripped his broad shoulders, and she tasted the arbor gold on his tongue as she opened her mouth to meet it.

The prince gripped the edges of her shift, slowly sliding it upward and then over her head. She now stood naked before him, and Aegon could not help but pause to fully enjoy the sight. The shapely figure that her gowns had suggested was now fully revealed. Her fair skin seemed to shine in the candlelight, and wide pink nipples graced the tips of her heavy breasts. Her hips flared outward attractively, leading to soft white thighs with a patch of trimmed red hair at their center.

Sansa couldn't help but be flattered as the prince devoured her with his stare. She admired his form in return, his silver hair gleaming in contrast with the lightly tanned skin that betrayed his Dornish blood. She found herself reaching for his smallclothes, swallowing a gasp as she slid them down to reveal his manhood. It already looked so large and long, and seemed to be growing ever harder by the moment.

Aegon moved his hands slowly up from her hips as their tongues intertwined once more, his now-freed member hard against her stomach. He took one of her large round breasts in his hand, massaging its firmness before tracing his thumb around and across her hardening nipple.

Sansa moaned at his touch, in both surprise and pleasure. She hadn't known that it would feel _this_ good. Her own hand seemed instinctively to find its way to his member, and she wrapped her fingers around his shaft and begin sliding down and up. 

Aegon moved rocked his hips gently into her touch as her hand grew more confident in its strokes. His hands slid around to grip at the supple curves of her arse. He suddenly lifted her then, her legs wrapping around his waste as he carried her. The prince grinned as he tossed his giggling bride gently onto the bed.

Soon they lay facing one another, and Aegon began kissing her neck, moving his way down until his tongue flicked across her collarbone. Sansa was breathing heavily now, her hand moving across his muscled chest before reaching to gently grip at his hair as his kisses moved lower.

Aegon traced his his mouth down from the top of her breast, placing kisses around her nipple before at last his tongue danced across its tip. Sansa barely stifled a cry of pleasure, biting down on her lip as the prince began sucking at her breast. She felt a heat burn in her belly, a need that she'd never felt before, and one that only grew as the prince began kissing his way lower.

Aegon knew that whatever else was said about him, he knew how bed a women. He'd vowed that only one lady would know henceforth know that pleasure, but he intended to please her well. As his fingers felt the wetness dripping at her entrance, he knew he was well on his way.

Sansa thought she had some idea of what the prince was intending, but still let out a gasp of pleasure when his tongue first parted the folds at her entrance. Myranda Royce had told her tales of her own experience with what she called the Lord's Kiss. But Sansa was not prepared for the roils of sensation that now surged through her as Aegon's tongue circled her bud of pleasure.

She was leaning back on her elbows, taking in the sight of the future king as he knelt on the bed before her, lapping ardently at her sex. "Do you like that, princess?" he asked huskily as she leaned her head back, closing her eyes to bask in the ecstasy. "Oh... oh yes," was all she could manage, feeling a wave of added pleasure at his use of her new title, one she'd never dared to dream of having.

Aegon sensed her getting close as his tongue began tracing ever tighter circles around her pearl. Sansa's moans grew loader until suddenly her muscles tightened and her back arched, her cunt somehow growing even wetter. "Oh, my prince!" she panted amid a series of high pitched moans, her hands gripping the sheets as she rode out her climax.

Sansa had not known such a feeling existed, and she was almost in disbelief as she laid back and caught her breath. The prince returned to his place at her side, a satisfied grin splayed across his face. But he wasn't the only one with a trick up his sleeve. Myranda had also educated Sansa in the ways women could please their husbands, such as to have them wrapped around their fingers. _Sometimes the way to a man's heart is through his cock,_ the lady had put it, Sansa blushing all the while.

But now she was thankful for the instruction, for the prince had granted her a favor and she needed to repay it. She began kissing her own way down Aeogon's chest, pausing to trace her tongue along the muscles of his abdomen. "My lady, you needn't-" Aegon started, before being silenced by a "Hush." Before he could further protest, she had her hand around his member.

It was Sansa's turn to kneel between the prince's legs, moving to all fours as she lowered her mouth toward his manhood. As her hand continued to stroke him, her tongue flicked out to shyly swirl around his tip. Hearing Aegon's purr of approval, she licked down the full length of his member, before tracing her tongue back up the other side. With his lengthy cock now gleaming in the firelight, she tucked a strand of red hair carefully behind her ear before taking him into her mouth.

"Oh, my lady," Aegon moaned as her lips enclosed around him, sucking gently at his tip at first before slowly bobbing up and down, taking in more of him. Aegon opened his eyes to look down at her and she seemed to sense it, her Tully blue eyes suddenly meeting his gaze as she sucked him.

Sansa began to experiment, using her tongue to caress the underside of his member as she sucked. _I_ _may be new at this, but I don't need to act like it._ The prince's groans grew in volume until he lifted his hand to her chin, guiding her upwards.

Their tongues met once again, with each of them now tasting themselves on the other. "Are you ready, Sansa?" asked Aegon, his pupils large and dark amid his amethyst eyes. "I want you," Sansa whispered, the words almost speaking themselves.

Aegon guided her gently onto her back, and she spread her legs as he climbed between them, his manhood inches from her center. He bent down to kiss her, and she griped his upper arms as he positioned himself at her entrance, its pink lips parted by the head of his cock.

Sansa arched her hips toward him, and suddenly felt a spark of pain as his manhood pushed within her.

Aegon felt it as he broke her maidenhead, her grips on his arms tightening as she let out a soft gasp. Sansa was incredibly tight around him, and he carefully pulled almost fully out of her, then gently pushed further in.

The initial pain Sansa felt had dimmed to a slight ache, which was mixed with a sensation that was altogether different. She could feel her inner walls gripping the thickness of his member, slowly taking him in deeper. He was filling a void inside her that she'd never known was there.

She began rocking her hips in tandem with the prince's thrusts, the waves of pleasure that resulted making up for any pain. Aegon took one of her thighs in hand, sensing that she was ready and working his way further until he felt himself fill her completely.

The prince began thrusting in a steadier rhythm, still careful not to cause her too much pain. _Gods_ , she was so warm and tight around him, and he had to retrain himself from pressing too far.

Sansa's hands gripped his shoulders now, gazing up at the dragon prince who was now her husband. She felt her walls embracing every inch of him, sending waves of pleasure along with each thrust.

Aegon felt himself nearing his end as he locked eyes with his future queen, increasing his tempo until at last he gasped as he reached his end.

Sansa moaned at the sensation of him finishing inside her. Some strange part of her mind noted that the future king of Westeros could just have been made.

The prince kissed her sweetly as he panted above her, and when he slowly pulled himself from inside her it felt like something had gone missing. She looked down at the wetness between her thighs, where her entrance leaked a mix of her maiden's blood and the milky white thickness of his seed.

"Was that to your liking, _princess_?" said Aegon, smirking as he rolled to lay beside her.

"I suppose it was, _husband_ ," said Sansa, tired, sore, and happy. "I can't believe I hadn't done that sooner."

"There's a lot of lost time to make up for," replied the prince with a grin.

* * *

 

They slept soundly, side by side, and when they awoke they took one another again. Sansa climbed atop him this time - another wise tip from Lady Myranda. The prince sucked at her bouncing teats as she rode him, and this time the pain was lessened. They built momentum until at last she felt a spring of pleasure uncoil in her belly. She cried his name as she rode through her finish, her spasming cunt causing the prince to spill his seed as well.

After, Sansa gazed out the tall windows where the morning light spilled in over Blackwater Bay. The prince was dozing once again, but soon it would be time to rise. No doubt her growing flock of handmaidens awaited, along with gods knew what else a princess must endure. Sansa Stark may have been overwhelmed by it all, but Princess Sansa Targaryen would not be. It was the dawn of a new day, and she intended to rise with it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interesting to think about a version of Sansa who gets everything she wanted, instead of the series of unfortunate events she was hit with in cannon.
> 
> There will be a large time jump after this chapter. Next up: Summerhall. Oh, and sorry for the wait :/


End file.
